The Storm After the Calm
by x.imagine.x
Summary: Felicity's been acting strange lately and Oliver wants to know why. Every time things calm down, a huge storm finds a way to erupt around them, turning their lives to chaos. Try as he might, he just can't shake the feeling that something is about to go down that won't end well for any of them. Olicity
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Happy Wednesday all! OK, so this has been floating around in my brain for a long time, and I finally think I found a way to make it work. I had to rewind the elevator scene in 1.22 about five times to watch it because it was SO funny, and now I'm going to take a quick dip into the waters of **_**Arrow**_** fanfiction because of it. It's taken me a long time to finally decide exactly where I wanted this to go and trying to keep them all in character. It started as just a quick bit of Oliver's internal monologue after the elevator scene but, well… Like with everything I seem to do, it took on a life of its own and it's too late to really go **_**too**_** AU. So I decided ultimately to approach it as an after the fact analysis and continuation from there, but hopefully I did them justice. I spent some time figuring out an actual plot that worked after I'd finished this chapter so hopefully it's believable. I'm going to say this picks up sometime in the future, including events from the show up until the end of 2.07 (State v. Queen). **

**Another little addition to my author rant: I started writing this before Felicity became his assistant, so at that point Thea didn't know her. However, I liked the Thea parts I have written so far so I decided to just operate under the assumption that Thea has seen her a couple of times, but doesn't actually know Felicity or her relationship to Oliver.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Arrow, Laurel would have been dead as soon as they introduced Felicity. A little harsh, I know, but I wouldn't allow for the possibility of ANY competition for her.**

* * *

**The Storm After the Calm**

**Chapter 1**

He didn't know at the time why he did it, and it's been a long time since he's thought about it, what with the results of that particular day and the following ones. He just knew that in that instant he felt the absurd desire to reach out and hit the man.

"_Where are you heading, sweetie?"_

"_Nineteenth floor."_

"_That's too bad. I'm going to thirteen."_

He could have reached out right then and there and killed him in an instant, or at least knocked him out, but instead he settled on knocking the guy's papers out of his hand. He figured Felicity wouldn't approve of 'unnecessary violence.'

What kind of man talks to a woman like that anyways? Felicity is not a piece of meat to be ogled at by some pig. She is the kind of woman who deserves to be respected. She's much more than just a pretty face. She's intelligent, funny, and yes she lacks a conversational filter, but it's a quirk that makes her more endearing. She doesn't deserve to be treated the way he treated so many women before the island. Truth be told, his behaviour back then disgusts him now. To think he probably would have said a (much smoother, less sleazy) variation of the same thing to her years ago makes him wince. He never fully realized just how abhorrent his behaviour toward women was until that very moment, hearing it coming from someone else.

He tries to tell himself that his reaction was a purely protective instinct. He respects Felicity and they _did_ need the elevator to be empty. It meant nothing of significance that his stomach twisted in a knot of anger and defensiveness as he watched the guy look her head to toe and don a sleazy smile. He was only looking out for his friend. That's what friends do, right? They have uncalled-for desires to murder anyone who disrespects their friends?

He's been gone a long time, but he's sure that isn't really a thing nowadays. He does know he has a similar reaction whenever he catches guys eyeing Thea, so it could be a brotherly thing, but he's not entirely convinced that's it. With Thea, it's a fiercely protective feeling, a need to ensure Roy knows not to hurt her, but in that elevator… It was like he needed to neutralize a threat, like he needed to protect his territory or something. Not that Felicity is his property by any stretch of the imagination. He just can't stomach the thought of another man looking at her and talking to her the way that guy in the elevator did. He isn't sure what to make of that, since he hasn't felt that way in a _very_ long time.

In fact, he doesn't even feel that way about Laurel anymore. He tells himself it's because he knows she can look after herself, whereas Felicity begged out of his attempts to give her self-defence lessons, but he knows it isn't true. The idea of Laurel kept him alive for five years on that island, but maybe that's all it is: an idea. The reality is that he's a very different person now, and Laurel doesn't know him at all. She knows the boy who got lost on an island, and the billionaire playboy who is trying to find a place in life after being stranded for five years, not the man who came back with a purpose. Even after their night together before the Undertaking, he has to admit that it isn't the same as before, and not just because of Tommy's death. He never planned on telling her about that part of his life, even if he had taken off the Hood for good, so he'd always be hiding some piece of himself from her. The only two people who actually know the real him are now sitting in this room with him, and neither of them are a brunette female. Or perhaps one is. He seems to recall Felicity once saying that she dyes her hair. Not that it matters. Either way, she's not Laurel.

Looking around, he realizes there is actually only one other person in the room now. They'd come back from another successful mission a couple of hours ago which saw Felicity out in the field once more, getting caught by the man they were trying to stop, so maybe that's what triggered this trip down memory lane. Diggle must have left while he was absorbed in his thoughts, but Felicity still sits in front of her computers, typing away as always. He's never really noticed how absorbed she gets in her work. It reminds him a bit of the new Oliver, the one who can focus on something and let the rest of the world melt away. She's driven; she has a purpose.

"Oliver?"

She is currently frowning at him. He hadn't realized he was watching her so intently.

"Sorry, I-"

"Zoned out?" She supplies, grinning, "No worries, I do it all the time. I accidentally did it once at a bar at one of my friends' bachelorette parties and unfortunately I was not staring at a straight girl… That was a bit awkward."

His lips quirk upward in a small smile, the closest he gets to the real thing anymore aside from the fake billionaire playboy ones. "I can imagine."

"Anyways… Now that you know _that_ unfortunate detail of my life, I'm going to call it a night. See you tomorrow?" She asks, jumping up from her chair and grabbing her purse.

He nods. "Let me walk you out."

He says the words before really processing them. Obviously her lack of a filter is rubbing off on him. She looks confused but nods all the same. He's aware that this is not a normal offer on his part, but the incident in the elevator seems to be more than just a one-time thing. He can't shake the overwhelming need to make sure she reaches her car safely, even though she probably didn't park far. He's always had a desire to protect her, but it's heightened in the past few hours. Maybe it's the reminder that danger lurks around every corner, even in places as innocent as an elevator.

"Well, goodnight," she says, interrupting his thoughts once more. He didn't realize they'd arrived at her car.

"Are you sure you're OK?" He asks again.

She shrugs, "Yeah, fine. I mean, it's not every day that you get held hostage by a psychotic drug lord, but I seem to be growing accustomed to the experience."

His stomach clenches at her words. Not for the first time, he feels a twinge of regret at bringing her into this life. She shouldn't be getting used to being held at gun-point. He debates saying something to that effect, but they've had this conversation too many times to count, and he knows how it will end.

"Text me when you get home safely," he replies instead, backing away and figuring it might be good to get a workout in to clear his head of all this nonsense before he heads home. This is just some weird thing triggered by the fact that she went out in the field again and his own remaining adrenaline.

**I'm home.**

**Have a good night.**

Abandoning his workout, he changes back into his suit, tucks the phone in his pocket, and ascends the stairs, the slight anxiety slipping away at her assurance that she's safely in her apartment for the night.

* * *

Everything goes more or less back to normal over the next week, with the exception of his continued escorts to her car when she leaves and his requests for her to notify him of her safe return home. They haven't had any real missions in that time, and he's starting to get restless. Every time things calm down, a huge storm finds a way to erupt around them, turning their lives to chaos. He blames this for his extra precautions where Felicity's safety is concerned. He can't shake the feeling that something is about to go down that won't end well for any of them.

"Everything ok, Oliver?" Diggle asks as he returns from walking her out.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You've never insisted on walking Felicity to her car before, yet you've done it every night this week."

He shrugs, turning his back on his friend to ensure his bow is locked away. "I just want to make sure she's safe."

"She parks across the street…"

"A lot can happen between here and there. Especially if someone figures out where the Ho- Arrow's headquarters are." He still has trouble referring to himself by the new name.

Diggle doesn't reply, so he must have accepted the explanation. Oliver doesn't see the other man's skeptical look behind his back.

* * *

His run-in with her at the diner is completely unintentional. It's become a regular place for him, and clearly it has for her as well. At first he thinks she's alone, but then she tilts her head back in laughter and he realizes there's someone on the other side of the table. His feet are on their way over before his brain can catch up, curious to see who she's with. He's never seen her outside of her office, Arrow work, and the 'lair' as she's taken to calling it.

She realizes his presence before he is properly in her line of sight, tensing in surprise.

"Oliver, hi!"

He smiles his standard 'public smile' for his billionaire playboy ruse, taking in the sight of her companion. He looks to be a man around her age, with boyish features and the same sparkle in his eyes that so often lights up Felicity's. He frowns momentarily, wondering when exactly he noticed a sparkle in her eyes, but then remembers the people in front of him and puts a smile back on. "Felicity. How are you?"

"Good, you?" She asks. Her face is still lit up with the remnants of laughter.

"Can't complain. Are you going to…?" He asks, trailing off and indicating the man across from her.

"Right, sorry," she shakes her head as though to clear it, turning to her companion, "Connor, this is my friend, and… uh… boss… Oliver Queen. Oliver, this is Connor Telman, my, uh… other… friend…?" She finishes lamely, red colouring her cheeks. His lips quirk up in another smile at her obvious discomfort, just because the way she handles herself in slightly tense situations is pretty amusing.

He turns to Connor, Oliver-the-billionaire-playboy smile in place, "Good to meet you."

The other man returns the sentiment as they shake hands and Oliver notes his attempt to squeeze firmly. The same feeling that possessed him in the elevator takes hold once more, and his returning squeeze is enough to make Connor's eyes widen in surprise and discomfort, earning Oliver a disapproving look from Felicity. He can't find it within himself to even try to look abashed.

"I'm meeting my sister, so I'll see you later?" He says, turning his attention back to her. She nods.

* * *

"Who's that you keep sneaking glances at?" Thea asks after only fifteen minutes.

"What are you talking about?" He asks, failing to cover his surprise at being caught.

"That blonde over there with that guy. You're not as stealthy as you think, Ollie," she clarifies, taking a sip of her drink.

He shrugs. "She's a friend."

"You're sure looking quite a lot for her being a 'friend'."

He shoots his sister a look. "It's not like that. I'm just keeping an eye on her, making sure she's ok."

"Whatever you say," she singsongs, grinning widely.

He sighs, knowing he won't convince her, and glances back at Felicity again. She's laughing away with Connor, her eyes dancing as he tells her something. The same feeling from earlier returns as he notices Connor's eyes drinking her in, but he clamps down on it. What exactly is this feeling? Sure, he's protective of her, but why does he feel like he wants to go over there and remove Connor from the other side of that booth? He isn't being rude, as far as he can tell. In fact, it looks to be just the opposite. Felicity seems… happy and carefree, with her hair cascading down around her shoulders instead of confined in an elastic as usual. He finds he's never actually seen this side of her, even before the Undertaking. Sure, she is easily the happiest and most positive of the trio, but she rarely gives herself over to such uninhibited laughter. He's noticed she's been leaving her hair down more frequently since his return, but smiling less, another regret on his long list. It looks good on her, happiness.

* * *

"Hi," he says as he descends the stairs, mostly to alert her to his presence. He's walked up behind her without a greeting before and that resulted in her on the floor and her chair across the room.

"Hey," she mutters back, her tone distracted as usual. He's used to her replies sounding far away when she's looking at a computer screen.

"Digg in yet?" He asks, heading over to check on his arrow supply.

She makes a sound he assumes means 'no' and continues to stare at the screen, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.

"So… Connor seems…" The words are coming out before he can stop them or even decide what to finish the statement with. He presses his lips together tightly to avoid kicking something in his frustration with himself. He's beginning to understand Felicity a lot better lately with his filter apparently out of commission.

The sound of her typing stops. "He's a friend from work. Nice guy. A little shy, but sweet. No criminal record. Not that I looked specifically before becoming friends with him. I don't usually do that, it's just that I got the results of all of the company background checks from employee applications when I still worked in IT and I had to process them so I saw…" She stops abruptly, taking a deep breath to stall the rant before the sound of her typing resumes. "What's this all about?"

Unable to find anything else to do to appear busy, he moves to the cabinet containing his island herbs and starts sifting through them to keep his hands occupied as his mind races for the right response. All he comes up with is a stalling, "What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me. Why are you asking about Connor?" She demands, and he hears her chair swivel around to face him. He doesn't turn to her yet, unsure of the answer to her question himself.

"I-" He falters, trying to come up with the right thing to say to diffuse the rapidly growing tension in the room. "I wasn't asking about him. Just making a general observation."

"That you didn't finish," she says pointedly. "Come on, Oliver. You think I didn't see that stupid, macho, caveman hand-shake thing you guys were doing? You're not as subtle as you think. And then you come in here suddenly interested in my friends and my personal life? That was the most obvious fishing expedition I've seen since my dad took me ice-fishing when I was nine in a bright orange parka."

He can't help turning around to face her then, leaning back on the table with an amused half-grin on his face. He tries not to think of the way her use of the word 'friend' lightens the tension in his shoulders just a bit. "You ice-fish?"

Her cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink and her eyes seem far away at the memory she's recalling for just a moment before they snap back to the present. "I said he took me ice-fishing, I didn't say it stuck. He wasn't too keen for a repeat after I fell in."

He chuckles quietly at the image of a nine year old Felicity splashing around in freezing cold water in an orange parka, wondering when the last time anything even resembling a real laugh came out of his mouth. Laughter is a privilege he doesn't much indulge in these days.

"Glad I could amuse you," she snaps darkly, "But that's not the point. You've never shown any interest in my personal life before. Why now?"

His mind finally lands on a semi-plausible explanation and he latches onto it eagerly, just needing a way to frame it so that she won't get too angry. "It occurred to me after our last takedown that anyone… aware of my situation and your part in it might-"

It's the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flash angrily as she stands, her chair rolling back to hit the desk as she does so. "I'm going to stop you right there and give you the chance to avoid saying that you think people would only be interested in using me to get to you."

Her voice is dangerously low and his brain searches frantically for the words that will put this right. Honestly, that hadn't been his motivation at all, but he really doesn't have a clue what the actual reasoning is so it's as good as any.

"I- I didn't-" He stutters, still not finding the words. Why is it that in any other situation, with any other person, he could be covering and spewing lies by now, but in the face of the small blonde IT girl he's speechless?

"Yes, you did. Just because you push people away doesn't mean I will. I won't let this secret interfere with my life any more than it has to."

"I didn't say you did," he replies, hands up in a gesture of surrender. Usually she isn't quite so quick to anger.

"You suggesting that my friends aren't really my friends is doing exactly that," she snaps, turning back around and pushing in her chair before starting to collect her things.

"What are you doing?" He asks, even though it's obvious.

"I'm taking a night off. I need a break. Ever since the Glades, you've been three times as paranoid as you usually are, and that's saying something," she tells him, pulling on her sweater and grabbing her car keys. "There are alarms set on my computer if there are any reports of suspicious activity. You and Digg will be fine without me for the night. I'm going to go home, breathe, maybe take a bath, and try to forget this conversation ever happened."

"Felicity," he tries again, not wanting her to leave like this. Actually, he doesn't want her to leave at all, but that thought troubles him too much and he pushes it aside. "I'm just concerned, OK? I worry about you- your safety. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself, despite what you may think," she tells him defiantly.

"Is that why you refused self-defence training? You're already an expert?" He challenges, feeling his temper rising. He's trying to look out for her and she's throwing it back in his face.

She rolls her eyes. "Not everyone is waiting to attack me, Oliver. The Count used me to get to you, yes, but that was my own fault. I shouldn't have gone there alone and unprepared, but that was months ago and I won't make that mistake again. And getting caught a couple of weeks ago couldn't be helped. It happens. You may think that's a naïve way to look at things, but some people need to look at the world and see good. Some people need to believe there are still bright spots in the dark." She stops to take a deep breath before muttering, "Besides, I'd probably do more damage to myself than any would-be attacker."

He clenches his jaw to prevent himself from showing any outward reaction to her words. The truth is that he admires her unfailing optimism. He wishes he could see the world the way she does, but too much has happened for that to be possible anymore.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he says softly.

"Why now, though?" She asks, not really angry anymore. She sounds more exhausted and exasperated if he had to define it. "You've never cared before, yet here you are suddenly walking me to my car and making sure I get home alright and invading my personal life. If this is some big brother protector thing, save it. You brought me into this because you trusted my judgement. Trust it now."

"This isn't about not trusting your judgement, Felicity," he urges, needing her to believe him. She can't think he doesn't trust her.

"Then what is it about?" She yells again, exasperated. She throws her hands up at her sides before throwing them back down and shaking her head.

"Protecting you."

She scoffs loudly. He's never seen her so angry or combative and it's starting to worry him. The Felicity he knows wouldn't be acting like this over something as simple as a "macho-caveman-handshake" as she'd called it. Sure, she'd make sure he knew what she thought about it, and then maybe ignore him for a bit, but by the end of the night she'd either forgive him or fake it until she had. That was how Felicity worked. Somewhere along the line this conversation took a very wrong turn and pushed some button he didn't know she had. That has to be the explanation for why she's looking at him like this. There's something else going on, but he knows she won't share it. Especially not with him, and not now.

"You sound exactly like my father. I thought I was through with all of this overprotection crap when he died but I guess not. I told you that I can take care of myself where my personal life is concerned," she tells him firmly. He can't think of anything to say, but she doesn't stick around to see if he does. Instead, she turns on her heel and starts toward the stairs.

"Felicity!" He tries calling after her, finally regaining his voice. He even takes a couple of steps in her direction, but she keeps on walking.

"I need space, Oliver. I'll see you tomorrow," she calls back as she climbs the stairs.

Dumbfounded, he makes his way back to the table and leans against it. He hadn't even known her father was dead.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so initially this was supposed to be a one shot but as I kept building it up piece by piece I started to realize that it was taking on a life of its own and now I guess I'll see where it goes. It started as kind of a re-examination of his feelings about Felicity, but now I figure it probably needs an actual plot so I did some research and finally decided on one. Hopefully it works out. Reviews are love!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OK, so I'm playing a bit fast and loose with the computer stuff, because I have no idea about any of that. All errors (I'm sure there are lots!) are a result of my ignorance. Also, I'm definitely continuing my roundabout way of doing things where this is concerned and introducing the beginnings of the plot in this chapter instead of the first.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Look, Mom, I'm sorry, but something's come up," Felicity's voice sounds from the top of the steps the next day. He breathes a sigh of relief that she's showed up tonight. Being a Sunday, he didn't get to assess her mood at the office this morning. Sure, she'd still sent him the now-habitual text message assuring her safe return home last night despite her irritation, but he isn't sure if she's still angry with him.

"I know, I know. It's work, OK?" She replies to whatever her mother has said on the other end of the line as she descends the stairs with the familiar click of her heels. She catches sight of him standing shirtless on the training mats and smiles tentatively. He takes it as a good sign. "Yes, my boss is a slave driver," she continues, her eyes sparkling just a bit in amusement as his lips twitch slightly.

He watches curiously as she moves to put her bag and sweater down at the computer desk, seeming a lot more at ease than she had last night. Whatever it was must have been something he said. Maybe his sudden interest in her personal life triggered some memory of her father, or maybe she just wanted some privacy. He's never really broached such a personal topic like that before, so perhaps it was just the tension associated with unfamiliar territory prompting that reaction. The way he'd framed it hadn't been too helpful either.

"No, I know. How could I forget?" She says tiredly into the phone, her voice dropping a few notches. Obviously she doesn't want him to overhear whatever turn the conversation is taking. Usually, he'd back off and give her the space she obviously wants, but he finds himself trying to catch her end of the conversation as he moves away to give her some semblance of privacy. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's been six years." Her shoulders sag as she drops into her chair. He lowers himself onto the mat and concentrates on the push-ups he should be doing instead of eavesdropping like a little kid. He doesn't make it very far. "I'm not saying that. Of course I care, but I can't just drop everything and come back home every year. He wouldn't want us to-"

Whatever she's about to say is cut off as he assumes her mother starts talking again. She sighs and he stares at the mat beneath him, willing himself not to glance over at her. He chalks it up to friendly concern. Friends are allowed to be concerned for other friends if they're acting strangely, right? He's sure that's something that _is_ allowed, unlike what he wanted to do to that guy in the elevator.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't make it this year. I was hoping you could understand-" She pauses again, "I do care, Mom. Don't say that I don't. I just can't-" Another pause, and then her voice gets tense and angry, much like last night. "Well he's not here! Isn't that the point of this? At some point you have to let go- No, I didn't mean-" She sighs, and he hears the phone hit the desk, sounding suspiciously like she slammed it down. Her mother must have hung up on her.

He gives it another twenty push-ups before he gets to his feet and heads back to the edge of the mat for his water bottle. She's sitting in her chair, head in her hands.

"Everything OK?" He asks, grabbing a towel and stepping off the mat.

She raises her head and swivels the chair to face him. "Yeah, fine. Sorry about that," she replies, gesturing vaguely toward the phone. He doesn't tell her that her face says it's anything _but_ fine.

"Do you need some time off?" He presses. "You can take a few days if-"

She shakes her head. "No. Thanks, but I'm good."

She seems more set in her decision as she says the words, her shoulders setting and her posture straightening once more.

"I'm sorry about… yesterday, too," she tells him after a moment of silence, "You were just trying to help, even if I don't really understand why you feel the need to hover suddenly. This time of year just isn't the best for me and I took it out on you and I shouldn't have."

He stares at her for a moment before giving her a slight smile. "It's fine. I'm, uh, sorry if it came across like I didn't trust you. I do. I just… I don't want you to get hurt."

She returns his small smile with one of her own and swivels back around to face her computers. It's startling how quickly she seems to have compartmentalized what's been bothering her. He's never figured Felicity to be the compartmentalizing type, especially with her lack of a filter. It reminds him too much of himself, if he's honest. He knows what compartmentalizing and tucking things away can do to a person, and he doesn't want that to happen to Felicity.

"You know…" He starts, and her typing freezes, "You know that you can always talk to me about… anything… that you need to, right?"

His voice sounds tentative even to his ears, and the way her shoulders tense indicates that she very much does _not_ want to talk about it. He's treading on thin ice, but he can't help himself. This newly intensified concern for her is wreaking havoc on him.

"Yes," she replies shortly, resuming her motions. Her voice softens as she adds, "Thanks, but I'm really OK."

"Well, if that changes…" He says, knowing she'll understand. She nods once, but says nothing in response. He has to admit that he's baffled by this withdrawn, tense side of Felicity. She's always been open, honest, and quick to call him on it when he's being exactly the opposite. It unsettles him to realize it bothers him to see her like this more than is probably appropriate. Maybe he should check with Thea and see exactly how far past "friends" he's going here, since she seemed to think simply checking on her in the diner was over the line.

Diggle descends the stairs before he can give it much more thought, and he turns his attention over to sparring while Felicity continues to run searches on her computer. By seven o'clock, nothing of importance has turned up and he decides they may as well call it a night. They'd probably appreciate an early one every now and then considering he _does_ work them into the ground.

"I've got the system set to ping my phone if it picks up any suspicious activity and if it sounds serious I'll let you know," Felicity tells him as she leans against the desk waiting for him to lock away his bow. "And I'm running a background search for companies going under recently. It's minor, but I noticed a couple of smaller ones have reported their databases were corrupted and subsequently destroyed over the past few weeks, resulting in their collapse. I know it's not normally our thing, but usually these types of attacks are just warm-ups or testers for the real deal so I figured it can't hurt."

He nods, not really understanding the implications of all the tech talk but figuring any clarity she might offer would be more confusing. He's not completely inept, but she is definitely on a whole other level. She shoots him a small smile as though she knows what he's thinking and sets off toward the stairs. He follows her out and they part ways at her car, as has become their custom. He wonders vaguely what he'll do with the rest of his night, and resigns himself to the inevitability of paperwork.

* * *

He was kidding when he told himself he'd ask Thea, yet here he sits a full two days later, roped into a conversation he'd normally never be caught dead in. He blames Diggle for offhandedly mentioning he'd call Felicity as he left for the night. Thea was passing by at the time and couldn't resist offering up her opinion on having his driver call his 'girlfriend' for him. Of course, he took the bait she so tantalizingly dangled in front of him, denying their romantic involvement. Now, he's being pestered by her ceaseless questions, for once praying that Roy shows up and distracts the girl.

"So if you're not _together_ what are you?" She asks, propping her chin in her hand as she leans on the kitchen counter. He's tried evading her by moving to different rooms but she won't leave him alone.

He takes a deep breath. "Friends."

She scoffs, "Please, Ollie, your only girl friends are either current or ex."

His eyes narrow at the innocent smile on her face. "Ever think I'm trying something new?"

"Not very well," she remarks, tilting her head to the side. "What's she like?"

Gritting his teeth, he turns to the fridge for something to do. When did his sister's gaze become so piercing? "Thea…"

"Oh, come on, Ollie. Give me something! Is she sweet, funny, good in bed?" She asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at the last part.

He turns to face her then, shutting the fridge a bit more forcefully than necessary. "She's not like that."

His sister's face confirms his suspicion that his tone was a bit too harsh. "Wow, ok. You're serious about this one."

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. "Thea, Felicity is my friend. Nothing more."

She holds up her hands in defence. "Ok, whatever you say. You and Mr. Diggle sure talk about her a lot for just being one of your friends, and you've been a lot happier since that started happening is all. And the way you were looking at her in the restaurant…"

"What?" He asks sharply. At her failed look of confusion, he adds, "Just say it."

Thea sighs. "It's just… I haven't seen you look at someone like that in a while. Even if she's just your friend, she's clearly important to you."

"She is," he finally concedes. He won't lie about that. "Just not in the way you think."

Before Thea can say anything, his phone rings. The caller ID reads "Diggle" so he turns and starts walking toward the entrance as he answers.

"Talked to Felicity. She said there was a hit in her system a few minutes ago. You're going to want to see this, Oliver."

* * *

They're both already in the basement when he gets there. If the set of their shoulders is anything to go on, he won't like what Felicity turned up.

"So you remember that human trafficking ring you put a stop to last year?" She asks once he's within earshot.

He frowns but nods nonetheless. There are very few things he _doesn't_ remember, as much as he wishes otherwise. He'd tracked the ring back to Justin Whicker after his first return from Lian Yu, who'd only really drawn his attention at the time because his brother was on The List, and put an arrow in the man.

The look on Felicity's face is not promising. "Looks like it's started back up. With so many of the Glades residents still in poverty, they're prime targets. A few women have gone missing over the past year and there's been a slightly unusual amount of activity in the shipping yard during that time. It looks like they were smarter about it this time, though. They kept a slow pace so they wouldn't gain too much attention."

He remembers the words Whicker spoke before he killed him. _Another will come in my place_. Who knew how long this new leader had been operating without their knowledge?

"The Undertaking was just too good an opportunity for the predators to pass up," Digg adds, disgust layering his voice.

Oliver grits his teeth, looking off to the side to keep his cool. After all that effort, the ring sprung back up. He was a non-factor. Useless.

"Oliver!" Felicity's voice brings him back to the present. He glances down to find her staring at him with concerned eyes, which flick down to the hand he'd placed on the back of her chair. He's startled to find his knuckles white from the force of his grip, and it takes more effort than it should to free his hand. "Are you OK?"

He takes a second to breathe before forcing himself back to control. "Fine. Do we know who the new leader is?"

He catches her shooting a worried look at Digg before turning back toward the computers again. "Whoever it is, they're doing a good job hiding. All security footage of the shipping yard shows several men, all different heights with a different one seemingly in charge each night. The boss probably doesn't inspect the merchandise because he knows the danger it puts him in," she answers, cringing as she realizes she just referred to women as 'merchandise'. "I've got facial recognition software running in case any of them take off their masks, and I'm running a search on Justin Whicker to see who his most trusted associates were during his reign. It's likely one of them took over once he… died."

With a brief nod, he heads to the back to change. He needs to work out the frustration now filling his body. The Arrow was supposed to make a difference, and yet here was the trafficking ring, back up and running despite his best efforts to stop it.

He emerges from the back to find Digg already on the mat in his sweats. The older man catches his eye, and he knows he's thinking the same thing. They're similar this way, needing physical exertion to work out frustration and tension. Felicity, on the other hand, is content to let her fingers work out her- He stops his train of thought there, realizing what that sounds like. He's _really_ gaining an understanding of Felicity these days.

The sound of her voice permeates his concentration as he and Diggle spar, and he spares a quick glance to see her on the phone, in which time Diggle lands a rare hit. He grunts, causing Felicity to glance back at them.

"No, Mom, no one's fighting. At least not for real," she says into the phone. "I'm at a gym."

He and Digg try not to grin as they hear that. Felicity at a gym conjures up a pretty amusing image.

"Yes, Mom, I joined a gym," she replies. Clearly her mother shares their sentiment. "The city is safer than you think." Another pause. "Yes, thanks to the vigilante. And I think he prefers the Arrow now."

Oliver lashes out, but Digg blocks with another grunt of exertion.

"Mom, I do not need to worry," she shoots them another glance out of the corner of her eye, "I think I'm pretty safe from the Arrow's wrath." A pause. "I'm sure the gym offers self-defence, why?" This time the pause takes on a horrified aura. "Mom, I do not need- Mom- Don't you dare guilt trip me. I tried self-defence once. It took about as well as ice fishing." She says, recalling the example from their previous conversation, and then sighs. "Fine, I'll look into it, OK?"

He dodges another of Digg's attacks.

"I really will, Mom. I promise." She sounds sincere now, despite the irritation colouring her earlier tone. "No, I still can't- I'm sorry, Mom- Yes, I know- Love you, too."

She sighs as she hangs up, and he and Digg take a few more hits before breaking apart and going for their water bottles. He appraises her posture as he tilts his head back for a drink. She looks less tense than she did the last time her mother called, which he figures is a good thing. Whatever happened between them is obviously starting to resolve.

"Felicity, bring your workout clothes tomorrow," he states, ensuring his tone leaves no room for argument. She swivels around to face them faster than should be possible, her eyes filled with panic.

"I thought we agreed-" She starts, looking desperately at Diggle for help. She'd had exactly one self-defence lesson from Diggle before begging out when she managed to trip herself more than she did Digg. They haven't talked about it since, but her conversation with her mother brings it back to his attention.

"We can't always be around to protect you," he says, grabbing a towel.

Her eyes narrow at that. "I never said you did."

"Then you should learn at least basic self-defence," he points out. Glancing at Digg, he can see the other man can't come up with a reasonable excuse to remain on Felicity's side. Digg shoots her an apologetic look as Oliver presses on, "Besides, you _did_ just promise your mother you'd look into it, didn't you?"

The guilt on her face wars with her aversion to violence for a moment before her resistance collapses at the expression on his face. "Fine. I would say it's your," she gestures to both of them, "safety at risk, but it's mine. Let's just hope I don't do too much damage to myself…"

As Oliver heads to the back room to shower and change, he hears Felicity's defeated voice. "What was that?"

Digg's response is accompanied by a chuckle. "I think you just joined a gym."

"Thanks for having my back, partner," she replies sarcastically.

* * *

She casts a longing look at her computers as she takes a hesitant step onto the training mat. Oliver tries not to laugh at the look of apprehension on her face as she approaches Diggle. He figures it's safer to start her out slowly with Digg, as much as he wishes they had the kind of relationship that allowed him to be the one training her. However, he gets the feeling she'd be even more nervous if it were him, so he settles for watching covertly from the sidelines instead.

After the third time she manages to end up flat on her back on the mat, her computer dings and she nearly sprints to it. Diggle shakes his head in amusement as he heads over to where Oliver is now sharpening arrows.

"She's actually picking it up pretty quickly," he says, "It's a confidence thing. Last time we tried this, she wasn't as confident as she is now, but she's still got a ways to go. She's just overthinking it. Letting nerves get the better of her."

"You're going too soft on her," he tells the other man, "Don't give her time to overthink it."

"I'm trying not to overwhelm her."

"If she's attacked, she's going to be overwhelmed. She needs to learn to deal with emotions like that."

"Then _you_ train her!" Diggle snaps quietly, and Oliver lets his eyes fall to the floor in contrition. Digg is right. He has no say in how the other man approaches training Felicity.

"Hey ninjas," she interrupts, not looking away from her computer to see Diggle's raised eyebrow at her new name for them. She comes up with them sporadically. "I've got some possibilities for the new leader."

She waits until they're both near the computers before pulling up some photos. "So Sonny LaFontaine was Whicker's right-hand man, judging by the information the search pulled up. He was at all the deals, even when Whicker wasn't. He doesn't seem like the most likely candidate, though, considering he's already massively implicated in the whole thing. I mean, our guy is smart and LaFontaine is clearly _not_ the sharpest arrow in the quiver."

Oliver's lips twitch slightly at her analogy. "Who else?"

"Well there's his girlfriend's brother, Uri Makarov. The guy is a little more of a background player. He met Whicker in one of his many stints in jail. You'd think after a stay in Iron Heights you wouldn't really want a return trip but Makarov seemed to enjoy the accommodations. So did Whicker, for that matter," she pauses, taking a deep breath to get herself back on track, "So, anyways, he's a possibility."

Diggle nods along with him as Felicity pulls up another picture.

"My money's on _him,_ though," she points at the screen, "Brandon Whicker, aka Justin's older brother and esteemed member of The List. He was more into the corporate side of things but that doesn't mean he can't dabble in human trafficking. He certainly has the brains to be behind this operation, and he has the same Russian contacts Justin did."

"So we watch Whicker and Makarov and see who shakes something loose first. They could be in it together," Digg suggests, turning to look at Oliver.

Oliver considers his statement for a second, and then shakes his head, "I don't think they're working together, but I think one of them is definitely behind it."

"Right, I'll see what I can get on their addresses and daily routines and get back to you."

He raises an eyebrow as she starts typing. "Usually you set the computer to do that automatically," he observes.

Her fingers freeze and he can tell she's trying to come up with a response he'll buy. "It'll go just as fast if I do it manually. Besides, I've been on my back enough for today; I'm not used to that much physical activity at one time. That came out wrong."

Her words come out in a rush as they so often do, and he can't help but smile at the way her brain has started catching her verbal slips more quickly. He sighs, deciding to let it slide this time. He had his limits when he first started out, too, and he doesn't expect Felicity to get to his or Digg's level by any means. It's not that he doesn't think she can, he just doesn't see her as the kind of woman who wants to. Laurel took to combat like a fish to water, knowing far more than he did when they were teenagers, but she has the fierce edge that makes you expect it from her. Felicity is fierce, yes, but in a different way. She's more optimistic than anyone has a right to be, and maybe that's the difference. She sees the good in the world where he, Laurel, and Diggle see the bad, and thus has no desire to dip into her violent side.

He decides to take a trip upstairs instead of pressing the matter, since any action has to wait until Felicity has concrete information on Makarov and Whicker, and heads out to play the billionaire. After making the rounds, he decides that checking on her progress isn't likely to get her _too_ angry, and is just about to head back downstairs when his phone lights up with a message from the blonde in question, telling him that she's got the information he needs. It's time to put aside Oliver Queen and his musings for the night and don the hood.

* * *

**A/N: OK, so I figured ending it there should be good for now. As you can see, there's actually plot happening! I will not claim it to be good plot. You'll have to be the judge of that. I'm sure there will be kinks to work out, as I've never written anything like this before, but I'm trying my best to make it believable. Please review and let me know how I'm doing so far!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Ok, so here's another chapter! I'm hoping to have this all pre-written, or at least half of it pre-written, before I start posting, so all I have to do is edit before I post, but we'll see how that works out. Usually I get impatient and just start posting and then I fall behind and it all spins out of control. Here's hoping I stick to this! Also, for some of the stuff in this chapter, remember that for all intents and purposes of this story, the stuff with Barry Allen and the mask did not happen.**

**A/N At Posting: Yeah.. I got impatient and started posting haha.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: **

He stifles a yawn as he heads into the elevator in the morning. His basic recon of Makarov and Whicker's properties turned up nothing of great value, which still frustrates him. Makarov's permanent address is a rundown apartment that Oliver knows isn't where he actually lives, but a decoy for those who want to track him down. Whicker, on the other hand, makes no effort to conceal his whereabouts, settling down in a well-protected compound with at least ten armed security guards patrolling the perimeter. It's this, more than his inability to locate Makarov, which pushes him to agree with Felicity's suspicion of Whicker. Why else would he need such a fortified house? He still plans to check out Makarov with whatever Felicity's supplementary search can turn up, but he'll have Digg keep an eye on Whicker tonight while he's out.

Hoping that Felicity can at least give him good news about his day, he steps out of the elevator only to immediately wish he'd called in sick this morning. He's tempted to step back into the elevator and escape before he's spotted, but she sees him before he can make a quick getaway. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he heads toward the office just as Felicity points at him. Isabel Rochev turns to shoot him a cold look from where she stands in front of Felicity's desk before facing the blonde again.

"I must say, your inability to do this job continually astounds me," she's saying as he gets within earshot. Seeing the look of barely controlled rage on Felicity's face, he quickens his pace. "It's a secretary's job to keep track of her employer, and you seem to always fall short in keeping tabs on Mr. Queen, at least during the day."

"Sorry I'm late, Felicity. My phone died so I couldn't let you know," he interrupts, hoping it buys her a break with Isabel. The other woman turns to him, raising a sculpted eyebrow. "Isabel. I wasn't aware we had an appointment."

"I was just explaining to Ms. Rochev that you have a very full morning and she might try to look for you toward the end of the day if she wanted a word," Felicity explains, her voice tightly controlled as she stares at what he's sure is a point past both of their heads. She's had to deal with Isabel a lot more frequently as of late, and he can see it's beginning to take its toll as her usually composed façade cracks.

He gives a tight smile, knowing there's no way Isabel is leaving without giving him whatever lecture she's come to deliver. "That won't be necessary. I'm sure my 9:30 won't mind waiting; whatever Isabel has to say is obviously important, for her to be up here delaying my appointments for the day."

"Of course it is," she mutters under her breath. He's sure Isabel didn't hear her, but he did. Trying not to frown at her, he ushers Isabel into his office, pausing to double back to Felicity's desk.

"Everything OK?" He asks, looking down at her.

"Peachy."

He can tell the smile she gives him is fake, and he's sure she means for him to know it, too. He almost calls her on it, watching her warily, but decides to avoid whatever button he's once again pushed. In fact, he's about to walk away when she speaks again.

"It would just be nice if maybe you could try to be on time every once in a while. I mean, thanks for trying to take the blame with Isabel, but neither of us bought the story about your phone. I know you have no trouble apologizing to people for being late, but they can't say anything to you and I'm the one who takes the flak for it," she says, looking down at her computer as he turns back to look at her in surprise. Felicity's never been shy about standing up to him, but this is the first time she's directly rebuked him for his professional attitude.

Unsure of what to do, he merely blinks and says, "You're right."

She looks up at him, confused for a moment at his easy acceptance, before motioning to the main office. "Thank you. Now, Isabel's waiting. Do _not_ make her hate me any more than she already does."

He pauses for a moment, leaning forward to place his hand briefly on her shoulder in what he hopes is comfort. "I really am sorry to make your job so difficult."

He feels stark relief as the remnants of her frown disappear at his words. She even has a hint of a smile on her lips as she replies, "You're lucky I like you so much or I'd have run for the hills by now," and then her eyes widen as her words catch up with her, "I mean as in a friend, not as in _like_ like, because that would be _so_ inappropriate and- 3, 2, 1."

His lips lift in a genuine half-smile at her attempt to stall her chatter. "I know what you meant. I'll try to have Isabel out of here ASAP."

She shoots him a grateful smile as she picks up the phone to start notifying his appointments that he'll be running late.

* * *

Lunch doesn't come soon enough. After Isabel's lecture on the importance of timeliness and partnership, his morning is filled with reassurances and business pitches he confesses he didn't fully pay attention to or care about. He's just looking forward to a lunch in silence when Felicity knocks on his door.

"Your sister's here," she says, apologetically.

He gives himself a brief moment to allow his eyes to close as he breathes slowly. "Send her in."

Thea breezes past Felicity in a whirlwind of takeout bags. At least she brought food. After the door closes, his sister turns back with a raised eyebrow to glance at the blonde. "Diner girl is also your secretary? How disappointingly predictable," she sighs, collapsing onto his couch, "I expected more creativity from you, Ollie."

He shoots her a warning look as he joins her, about to point out that this has hardly been the first time she's seen Felicity and shouldn't jump to conclusions. Before he can, though, he figures that she likely wants him to get as defensive as he feels. Instead, he opts for another tactic. "You mean like dating my mugger?"

It has the desired effect, as she glares at him momentarily after his reference to Roy. He wonders if she'd still say he has no creativity if she knew that Felicity doubled as the vigi- _Arrow's_ computer expert and that was really how they'd met.

* * *

He manages to step out to grab some coffee around three, grateful that the disgruntled investor booked for an appointment cancelled altogether when Felicity called that morning, even if the blonde is less so. Hopefully coffee will soften her anger toward him. He isn't sure what to make of her roller coaster mood swings as of late, but he knows it's probably best to just let them run their course. She mentioned it isn't a good time of year for her, so if he gives her some space, it should all work out. What he finds concerning, though, is that he suddenly doesn't _want_ to give her space. He wants to know what is bothering her so much that it turns her into someone almost unrecognizable to him at times. He can't remember this happening last year, or the year before that, but then again he can't really say he was paying much attention.

He's so consumed by the puzzle that he doesn't hear his name at first. When he finally does, he turns to see Laurel standing beside him. They haven't seen each other in a while and, surprised, he blinks a couple of times as he realizes she's asked him a question. "Laurel, hi. Sorry, I was…"

"Zoned out?" She supplies, smiling slightly as she continues, not wasting any time with rambling as Felicity often does, "It's OK. How have you been?"

He pulls out his own small smile as he responds politely, "Good, you?"

"Good," she replies, before making a face, "Well, as good as can be expected, I suppose. I'm happy to be back to work at any rate. The facility was good for me, but it was making me a bit stir crazy, you know?"

His smile turns soft and understanding at that. She spent some time in a rehab facility a few months ago, after he and her father finally managed to convince her she needed help with her pill problem. She looks good, better than she has in months. "I'm glad."

"I never did thank you for what you did. I may have been mad at first, but you and Dad were right; I needed help."

"I understand."

"Still, it wasn't fair to you. You were just looking out for me and I lashed out," she admits, eyes shifting away from him as she does so. She's nervous.

He shrugs, "I would have done the same thing. It's really OK."

She presses her lips together as she looks up at him, regret clear in her expression. "Let me at least try to make up for it. Do you have a free hour in the next couple of weeks? We could go to lunch and pretend to be two normal people. My treat. I have something I want to talk to you about."

He has to smile again at her offer. Laurel hasn't initiated any form of contact since the 'intervention' he and her father staged, so he takes this as an encouraging sign. "That would be nice."

She looks relieved at his acceptance, and he's surprised that she actually thought he would refuse. "Good. I'll call you and we can sort out the details."

Before he can say anything, the barista calls out his name and Felicity's from the waiting coffee cups and he turns to put them in a tray. Turning back, he sees Laurel looking at him contemplatively.

"Felicity's my assistant," he explains, without being prompted.

She frowns, "You get your assistant coffee? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

He chuckles at the memory of Felicity's adamant refusal to do just that. "She's not your typical assistant."

"So it would seem," Laurel replies, tilting her head slightly. "It's been a long time since I've heard you laugh, Ollie. You should do it more often."

He doesn't reply to the statement directly, instead choosing to bid her goodbye. It would defeat the purpose of this trip if the coffee he brings Felicity is cold.

* * *

Sitting outside the secondary property for Makarov that Felicity managed to track down, Oliver feels restless. From what he's seen so far, Makarov is more into the drugs side of things than he is human trafficking. While still abhorrent, he isn't the man they're looking for. Maybe once they shut down the ring (for good this time) they can revisit Makarov and his extracurricular business, but for now he's wasting his time. Felicity found reports of a scheduled departure at the shipping yard tonight, which means one of the two should be showing some signs of their involvement. Makarov's been in all night, not giving any hint of his being behind the ring.

"I'll give it another half an hour but I'm not seeing anything indicative of Makarov's involvement. Digg, what are you getting at Whicker's?" He asks into the comm link.

Digg's voice comes through quietly. "So far just a lot of guards. No movement inside or outside other than them. The south wall looks to be a weak spot, though, if you catch the shift change. The guards posted back there aren't as careful as the others."

"I'm looking at the inside with thermal," Felicity chimes in, "I'm not seeing much else. No one inside apart from the guards, like Digg says."

He almost curses, but holds it in. He hates the waiting that comes before the action, the calm before the storm. He'd rather be in motion than doing surveillance.

"Wait," her voice comes into the silence again, "The street cams approaching Whicker's residence just picked up a car coming to the property. The windows are tinted."

Oliver watches Makarov idly while listening intently to Felicity and Diggle trading information to get an idea of what's happening. Diggle moves around to the main entrance to attempt to get a glimpse of Whicker while Felicity tracks the car's progress, giving him updates on how close it is. He hates being on the outside of things, not able to help if things go sideways. She announces the loss of the car from the cameras and Digg reports it entering his line of sight, too far for him to really see much. He relays the events unfolding before him, even though they aren't much. Whicker gets out of the stopped car and turns to talk to someone still inside before leaning back in briefly.

"He's got some kind of smudge on his cheek," Digg says, and Oliver can almost see him frowning as he squints to get a better look.

"Lipstick?" Felicity suggests.

"That's probably the best guess. It looks red. The car's driving away now and Whicker's going back inside. He's got a spring in his step like he just got lucky, so I'm guessing you're right on the lipstick, Felicity."

"But does that mean he has a girlfriend, or a partner?" Oliver finally asks. Neither of them provides an answer as they realize it's just sparked more questions.

* * *

He returns to the foundry an hour later to find Felicity and Digg already there. Felicity reported losing the car leaving Whicker's on the cameras a couple of blocks from his house, so they can't be sure where it went after leaving. The three of them are slightly frustrated at that, but the fact that they can now reasonably assume Whicker is responsible for the resurrection of the human trafficking ring serves to lift their spirits a bit. If Makarov were the mastermind, he would be out ensuring he had an alibi as Whicker did, not sitting at home alone waiting for customers.

"Whicker seems to have settled in for the night," Felicity answers his unasked question as she spins her chair from side to side.

"We were just thinking we should come up with some sort of plan, since it's a pretty sure thing Whicker's behind this," Diggle puts in, standing from his position leaning against her desk.

"I go in, scare Whicker into a confession, leave him for the police," Oliver deadpans, heading over to the cabinet to tuck his bow away. He's frustrated, and he knows they can tell.

"Just getting Whicker won't be enough, though. There will always be people ready to take over. We need to completely shut them down. Felicity was thinking-"

"Hey!" She interrupts. "Don't put this all on me. You thought it was a good idea, too."

The other man sighs, "OK, fine, _we_ were thinking we should get Lance involved, make sure he knows where the deal's going down so he can get a team to shut the whole thing down."

Oliver hesitates. He's tried to minimize contact with Quentin Lance these past few months. "He might not be so willing after what we led him into last time. He lost a lot of men."

"Leave it to me," Felicity says firmly before grinning cheekily. "He can't say no to this face."

Despite himself, Oliver snorts in amusement as he takes off his mask and jacket. He finally caved to Felicity's incessant ramblings about his lack of viable facial identity protection a couple of months back. "I guess it can't hurt."

They lapse into silence after his agreement, he and Diggle winding down while Felicity types furiously away at her computer as always. She always seems to be typing, though he suspects she's purposely being a bit too enthusiastic right now so he doesn't suggest she join them. She's grudgingly accepted the inevitability of training with Diggle, but that doesn't mean she'll actively seek out the opportunity to engage in the combat. As she repeatedly says, usually accompanied by an embarrassed flush, she's far more content to watch.

After Digg heads back to shower and change, he heads over to where she still sits. Bracing his hands on the back of her chair for balance, he asks, "Find anything?"

She jumps, her hand flying to her chest in surprise. "Holy crap, Oliver. You need a bell or something! How long have you been standing there?"

He grins in amusement. "Only a few seconds; I wasn't trying to be quiet. You should be more aware of your surroundings."

"A lot of good it will do me when you're just naturally like a cat. We had one when I was little," she says in response, and he waits silently to see where she's going with it, "A cat, I mean, not one of you. She was always following me around silently and popping up when I least expected her. You think I'd be used to it by now but nope. I got _her_ a bell and I found it really helped to keep my youth. The rate we're going I've already lost about ten years of my life. I'd appreciate not losing any more."

He ducks his head to hide the twitch of his lips. "I'll take it into consideration."

She nods, satisfied with his response. "I haven't pulled anything more on the actual trafficking ring, but I've been looking deeper into Whicker. Originally I thought he'd resurrected his brother's work a while back but just stayed mum about it."

"But now?" He prompts.

"Now I'm not too sure. He kept a low profile after the Undertaking, knowing he was on The List and all. He followed your lead and spent a few months out of the country," she says, inserting just enough edge into her voice for him to know she still doesn't approve of his actions. "When he came back he stayed on the up and up for a bit so he didn't arouse too much suspicion before he started back in on his old habits. Again, kind of like you, but his habits are a little more nefarious than yours, though Lance might disagree with me. I'll have to ask him."

"Felicity."

"Right, sorry. The pieces just don't fit. The missing persons reports I'm finding indicate that the ring has been up and running since before the Undertaking, but Whicker's history isn't reflecting his prolonged involvement. I'll have to dig deeper into the reports from before Whicker's return and check their viability. It could be just built to make it seem like it's been going on for longer than it really has."

He frowns, stepping back from her chair. "Why would someone do that?"

"I'm not sure exactly. That's what I'm hoping this search determines. If the records were faked, I can hopefully trace it back to an IP address and see who did it and then we can work on the why."

He nods, his mind already working, trying to determine what possible motivation someone could have for faking the length of operation of a human trafficking ring. Coming up blank, he heads to the bathroom Digg has just vacated, hoping a shower clears his suddenly spinning head as she fills Diggle in on what they were talking about. As predicted, this simple takedown has become far more complicated than any of them expected.

* * *

The rest of his week is dominated by issues solely related to Queen Consolidated, much to his chagrin. While not quite as abhorrent as his playboy persona, investors have come to form a certain expectation of him as a businessman that is nearly as bad to portray. He's tried to be a more responsible version of the expected Oliver Queen, but his attempts have been futile. Investors and department heads, not to mention Isabel, still see him as the carefree young billionaire he was before the island. He won't be able to shake that persona, no matter what evidence of his capability he provides.

Felicity interrupts the silence in his office as she pokes her head in. "Hey, I'm headed out to meet a friend for lunch."

"Connor again?" He asks, assuming it's a safe assumption since she's been out to lunch with him twice already this week.

She stiffens at his tone. "Yes, why?"

He shrugs, "Idle curiosity, I guess. You've been spending a lot of time with him lately."

"I suppose I have," she replies, and he can hear the effort she's making to keep her tone neutral and unconcerned as she moves fully into his office. "I lost a lot of the connections and friends I had in IT when I was moved up here, so I like to put an effort into maintaining the friendships I still have."

Again, he feels a pang of guilt at the way he's upended her life.

"Don't start feeling guilty or apologizing for it," she tells him before he can do just that. "As much as I'd like to keep blaming you, it's not entirely your fault. We needed a cover. I just wish it came with fewer assumptions."

"How do you mean?" He asks, genuinely confused.

The look in her eyes is more of the 'are you kidding me' variety than angry as she explains, "IT girl gets promoted to secretary-"

"Executive assistant," he corrects and she rolls her eyes.

"Either way, I answer your phones and get you coffee."

"Actually, _I_ get _you_ coffee."

She crosses her arms in annoyance at his interruption and he holds his hands up in concession. "So IT girl gets promoted to be Oliver Queen's _executive assistant_ after said billionaire is spotted at her cubicle with increasing frequency, gaining her a pay raise which, I must point out, is completely unnecessary for the work I'm doing. I should have made more in the IT department. I was certainly a more valuable asset down there, and I actually got to use my university degree. Did I mention I wrote the code for the protections around QC's main database? My supervisor said it was better than anything he'd seen in any other company, and how was I rewarded for that? By a promotion to secretary. But that's beside the point," she tells him, waving her hand in dismissal, "The point is that everyone assumes we're sleeping together."

He blinks. He knows Isabel assumes Felicity is trying to seduce him with her 'short skirts'; she told him as much in Russia all that time ago. He's tried to dispel her suspicions since then, but he's failed spectacularly. He'd assumed that her suspicions were her own, but the fact that everyone at the company apparently thinks the feelings, or lack thereof, are mutual and consensual is new to him. "How is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"I just assumed you'd picked up on it by now. It's not exactly a secret in the office," she tells him, shrugging. "But whatever. I've gotten used to the whispers. I even went out and amped up my wardrobe to play the part a little better. It wouldn't do to have people wondering what other reasons you could have for 'promoting' me, now could it?" She asks, her lips twisting into a wry smile. He's struck again by the sacrifices she's made for this life he's dragged her into. "I was a bit selfish, though. I found I wanted at least a few friends to know I wasn't sleeping my way to the top. Connor is just one of the few who stuck by me when I told him you were just hopeless with technology and figured it was better to have your own personal IT specialist right outside your door. Though that wording doesn't really discourage people from assuming the worst, come to think of it. Your stunt at the diner didn't really help, either, but I think I managed to smooth that particular wrinkle."

He can't think of anything to say, stunned by the large amount of information she's just dumped on him. In retrospect, he should have realized this was what people would think, but there goes that self-absorbed streak she called him on after his second return from Lian Yu.

"Anyways, I should, uh, go," she tells him in a voice that indicates her words have caught up with her and she's feeling the awkward tension in the room.

"Right," he says, clearing his throat, "Wouldn't want to keep Connor waiting."

She opens her mouth as though she wants to say something, and then seems to think better of it and turns on her heel to leave. He's left to sit and wonder why the idea of her going for lunch with Connor three times this week bothers him.

* * *

**A/N: Ok so I figure this is a good way to leave it for now. I know Felicity's a bit strange, but all will be explained.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for your reviews and support! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far. Here's the update! In this chapter, we take care of the Laurel problem.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Sitting across from Laurel in the restaurant, he can almost pretend they're normal, just as she'd hoped. It's nice, being able to reconnect with her again after so long. He's missed just being able to talk to her, even if there's still a thin layer of tension over their conversation. He realizes as they sit here, though, that the tension he thought would slowly fade away one day is never going to, no matter how much time passes. Not only is he now a reminder of Sara and heartbreak, but also one of Tommy and rehab and too much pain for one person to possibly survive. He knows they could never rekindle old feelings, because she deserves better than what he once offered her, but a small part of him held out hope that they could forge something better than what they had before the island. Now, he knows that anything they could have in the future would be tainted by the scars of their past, no matter how hard they try to cover them up. He holds too many memories of pain for her, and she holds too many memories of who he used to be for him.

It seems she's read his mind's turn to more serious thoughts as she places her fork on her napkin carefully before folding her arms on the table and leaning forward just a bit to look at him. "I'm leaving Starling City."

That surprises him, and his response is less than articulate. "What?"

"I got a job offer in Coast City a month back, and I've decided to take it. Starling just isn't home anymore, you know? I used to stay for my dad, but he doesn't need me anymore. He won't fall apart if I go, but I know I'll fall apart if I stay." She pauses to look down at her plate momentarily before flicking her eyes back up at him. "I can't be here anymore, Ollie. I can't keep seeing reminders of what and who I've lost everywhere."

"I understand," he says, surprising both of them. "It's the same for me."

"How can you stand it?" She asks softly, eyes steady on his. It's one of the things he finds most admirable about Laurel Lance; no matter the subject, she never shies away from the conversation. It's borderline pushy, but she walks the line carefully enough that it never gets that far.

He considers her question for a bit, her gaze never straying from his face. She doesn't assume he isn't going to answer. Her refusal to change the topic could again be interpreted as pushy, but he finds himself thinking it's because she knows he trusts her enough to say whatever is on his mind as soon as he finds the words.

"I guess it reminds me of why I need to be better," he finally says.

Laurel smiles sadly, nodding. "I just need to get away from it all. Being surrounded by it isn't good for me. It doesn't make me better, Ollie."

He's not sure if that says good things about him, or bad ones.

* * *

Diggle comes in to find him alone in the foundry, sitting on the couch with an aimless expression on his face. He's vaguely aware of the other man sitting down beside him, waiting out the silence. It's rare that he isn't working out or taking some other form of action, and if Diggle's posture is anything to go by, this change has rendered him uncertain of what exactly to do.

"Laurel's moving to Coast City," he finally says.

Diggle huffs out a breath. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

"Me neither."

They sit in silence for a while longer, neither moving nor speaking.

"When I came back from the island, I had all of these expectations about what would happen. They varied from time to time, but they always included Laurel forgiving me. I realized today that it's never going to happen, and not just because she's leaving. I think I knew it already, today just… brought it to my attention. Even if she stayed, we're two very different people, and I don't think we could ever have gotten to a place where we could be together again. I'm just not too sure where this leaves me. The idea of Laurel kept me alive on that island, but how do you move on from an idea?"

Diggle takes a moment to digest what is probably one of the longest things Oliver has ever said to him on a personal level (and probably in general, too), before finally shrugging. "I don't know, man. You just take it one day at a time, and eventually you'll wake up and realize it happened without you knowing it."

He sighs heavily, staring around the foundry in the ensuing silence. He doesn't like not having the answers.

"Yes, Mom, love you, too," Felicity's voice comes from above the stairs, breaking the quiet they've been engulfed in for the past few minutes. "I'll call you later, OK? I promise." He watches as she descends the stairs, hanging up her phone as she does so. When she comes into full view and sees them sitting on the couch, she frowns in confusion. "Did you break all the training equipment in a fit of rage again?" She finally asks, tilting her head.

Surprised, he blinks at her. "No."

Considering him for a moment longer, she narrows her eyes. "Then why are you both sitting on the couch?"

Diggle grins. "Sometimes people like to sit on couches, Felicity."

"Yes, sometimes people do, but you guys aren't exactly people," she says, before her brain catches up with her words, "I mean, obviously you're people, but you're not normal people. I just mean that you guys don't sit idly on a couch, you go all caveman on each other and the training equipment instead, and this really isn't going to get any better so I'll just stop in 3, 2, 1."

His lips twitch slightly as she breathes steadily to calm herself before moving to her computer desk and putting her bag down. No matter what, he can always count on Felicity to cheer him up, even if she doesn't know she's doing it.

She clicks a few folders on her computer once she's settled before sighing heavily. "At least the first three disappearances are not linked to the trafficking ring."

Diggle's brow furrows as he stands up. "How is that even possible?"

"Whoever did this was good. They took real missing persons, laid a digital trail to connect them to the trafficking ring, and covered their tracks pretty well. Most systems wouldn't pick up the difference. Luckily for us, I don't run most systems."

"Can you determine who did it from the data you've got?" Oliver asks, moving to stand behind her chair.

"Not yet. I've got programs running to try to figure out where the IP address originated from, but it looks like it's going to take a while to weed through the decoys. I might have something for you in a couple of hours."

"Just enough time to get in a workout," he comments.

She nods along with him before she freezes. "You meant me, didn't you?"

"Digg's already getting changed."

* * *

A full day later finds them back in the foundry with exactly as much information as they'd had previously. Felicity's search turned up three separate IP addresses for each of the reports, resulting in more frustration. Oliver's surveillance of Whicker turned up nothing of value, but she'd left a search running to weed out any other fake reports before they'd called it a night. If her growl of frustration is anything to go by, it didn't turn up what she'd hoped.

"What now?" He asks, dreading the answer. They really don't need any more complications.

"The first legit disappearance linked to the Moscow human trafficking ring occurred two months ago. Two months. Someone went a year back in time to fake the trail. I've got a trace running on the IP addresses but I'm sure it'll turn up several different ones, like the last search. I'm at a standstill until I can figure out how to connect them. I'm _never_ at a standstill!"

He tries not to smile at her infuriation because, honestly, it's pretty amusing. "You look like you want to hit something."

"I kind of do!" She exclaims, rounding on him with a bit of a teasing glint to her eyes to soften the anger, "And I blame it on you! I did not have violent impulses until I met you."

"Well the best way to curb violent impulses is to just let them out, I've found," he responds before he can stop himself, "That, or have a drink… or four."

She shakes her head forcefully, demeanor suddenly changed. "No."

He meant it as a joke, mostly, but her refusal is abrupt. He frowns as her body stiffens and she turns away, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. He always knew she was anti-violence, but he had no idea it was this deeply ingrained in her. Thinking about it, he isn't sure that he's ever seen Felicity hit anything in anger, or even do more than raise her voice at him. Even those most opposed to violence have a breaking point, but he's never seen hers. He finds it admirable, but something about the way she's just reacted makes him think it's a bit unhealthy, too.

The sound of the door opening as Diggle arrives cuts off anything he might say, and he's left to frown momentarily at the back of her head instead.

"Where are we at?" He asks as he hops down the last two stairs. The look they both shoot him answers his question without words.

The night wears on with little progress despite Felicity's constant keyboard clicking and occasional frustrated growl. She steps out to take a phone call from her mother and comes back in an even worse mood, if that's possible.

Whicker does nothing of note while Oliver is there watching, but he installs a few discreet cameras around the property that Felicity says won't be detected so they can watch his movements when the Arrow isn't able to do it personally. Now that they know the trafficking ring hasn't been operating since the Arrow stopped the first Whicker, at least in any effective capacity, trying to figure out why someone would fake it is occupying all of his available mental capacity. Perhaps it's just the elder Whicker trying to cover his tracks and provide doubt as to his involvement if he were to ever be caught. It was set up in such a way that the first missing person was reported just before the Undertaking, after which Whicker went off the map for a few months. Something like that is hardly indicative of his involvement in the whole thing, and could be used to his advantage if the cops ever figure it out. Something's telling him that's not completely it, though. Like everything he seems to get involved with, there's more than meets the eye here; he just has to figure out what it is.

"Anything?" He asks as he returns to the foundry.

"No," she sighs, her head in her hands.

"You've been working at it all day," he points out, just as frustrated as she is.

"Yeah, well, we can't all just threaten to stick an arrow in someone to get our way, now can we?" She snaps angrily, and his head whips around to look at her in surprise.

He knows he should let it go, but she's been like this for over a week now and it's starting to worry him. The Felicity he knows doesn't let anger get the best of her, and she doesn't explode for little reason. So, instead of ignoring it like he knows he should, he puts his bow on the table a bit more loudly than necessary, causing her to look at him in surprise. Digg comes in from the back room just in time to hear him ask, "What's going on with you?"

She feigns innocence about as well as she operates her brain-to-mouth filter. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play coy with me," he parrots her earlier words back to her and she bristles.

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine." She takes a moment's hesitation before amending, "I'll be fine."

"Will you?" He challenges, though he genuinely wants to know.

"Yes," she says angrily before sighing heavily. Taking in her facial expression, he notices the fight seems to have left her. Her shoulders sag and her eyes fill with tears before she turns away from both of them, rising and walking toward the training mat. "No. God, you're right. You're both right. I'm sorry," she says as she stops by the weights and glances back at the two of them, knowing instinctively that this isn't just coming from Oliver; Diggle is worried too. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to deal with this past week. I just… It's been so long and I figured I needed to just push through it. I'm OK most times, but then it just gets to be too much to deal with, you know? All the memories trying to push their way in and constantly fighting to keep them out. It gets exhausting, and then I snap, and I don't mean to but I can't help it because I'm already tense and whatever you said just reminds me-" she breaks off as she runs her fingers along the weights, taking a few steps away from them. He and Digg both remain still and silent, aware that this is very unlike Felicity. She's more closed off than he's ever seen her, with hard eyes and stiff posture, yet he gets the sense that this is the most open and honest they'll see her, too. Whatever she's about to say, it's big. She turns her attention to the weights as she continues, running her fingers along the handles absently as she starts to walk again.

"You probably noticed I've been talking to my mother a lot more recently, with mixed results. Usually I head home around this time of year, but I figured it was time to stop. She's not very happy with me, as you can probably tell, but it's time to start moving on." She's building herself up, readying herself for the admission, and her back is still turned to them as she finally gives voice to what has been bothering her. "Six years ago today, my father threw himself in front of a Metro train on a business trip to Shanghai."

* * *

**A/N: OK, so this is shorter than they have been so far, but I really wanted to end with this. It may seem like I'm sweeping Laurel under the rug, and I kind of am. Yes, that's a cop out, but I really dislike Laurel (and not just because she's competition for Felicity, I promise!) and I really dislike writing her. This was the most realistic way I could decide to get rid of her, and I do think it's something that could happen.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ok, so I know this is a few days overdue. I am so sorry! I got tied down with midterms so I didn't have time to give this a read over until now! This one's longer in order to make up for the shorter previous chapter, but from here on out they're mostly longer chapters so far.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

He can't control his surprise, and neither can Diggle, both jerking their heads to look at the other in shock. Last week he found out her father is dead, and now she's telling them he committed suicide? Despite the questions this raises, he knows she isn't finished speaking, so he curbs his own instinctive reaction as she reaches the end of the weights. Instead of turning around, she stays with her back to them, and without the ability to see her face Oliver almost assumes it's someone else speaking. Felicity is always bright and happy; this doesn't fit with her at all. Try as he might to wrap his brain around it, he just can't reconcile the image of her in his head and the woman currently standing in front of him. At least she's explained why he's never noticed her this way before. Thinking back on it, he realizes she _has_ always gone home around this time.

"The rest of the year I'm fine. I'm just tense around this time of year to begin with, and then Mom's mad at me for refusing to come home which only adds to the tension, and then I just start lashing out at you guys which isn't fair at all. I don't mean this as an excuse. Maybe just perspective as to why I have such a short fuse right now. I'm trying my best, but it just- I can't forget."

She brings her hand up, and he suspects she's wiping away a stray tear, but pretends not to notice. Instead, he focuses on trying to come up with the appropriate response to this kind of confession. What are you supposed to say when a friend tells you their father committed suicide six years ago today? He wishes he was better at comforting, or even just talking in general.

Sensing his utter uselessness in the situation, Diggle slowly approaches her from behind, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turns her head slightly to look up at him, and whatever silent conversation passes between them in that glance must do the trick, because she reaches up to squeeze his hand briefly before turning around, causing it to fall back to his side. Felicity looks between them, and he recognizes the smile on her face as a valiant effort to put the moment behind them.

"Anyways, I'm sorry I've been getting on your case lately. I'm really trying, and in another week I should be able to just shove it all back where it belongs and we can just pretend this never happened, and then next year it'll be easier. Eventually, it'll be like none of this happened."

He feels something in his chest contract as he watches her determined stance warring with the eyes that desperately want to believe the words coming out of her mouth but can't. She clearly wants to forget about her father but isn't able to, something he understands but wishes she didn't. He can't forget the island, no matter how hard he tries or how deeply he shoves the neat little boxes back in his mind. He almost wants to ask how she does it the rest of the year, because he's sure he could learn a thing or two from her. Instead, he stays silent until it's time to head out for the night, leaning against the table as he waits for her to put the finishing touches on the searches she'll run overnight. He never did say anything in response to her confession, and the tension in the room is a bit awkward.

"I'm sorry," he finally says softly, unsure what else is really appropriate.

She stiffens slightly and the sound of her typing stops, knowing what he's talking about without having to ask. "Don't be," she finally says, resuming her actions for a few seconds before hitting the button to turn off the screen and standing, her back still to him. "Not your fault."

"I know. I just- I'm sorry you have to live with this. You shouldn't have to."

"You haven't cornered the market on pain, you know," she tells him, shrugging into her coat, before looking at him and biting her lip. "Sorry. My father's selfish choice doesn't compare. My point is that we all have something."

He studies her for a moment and she starts toward the door in silence, not expecting a reply. He finds his voice as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. "I wish you didn't."

"Why not? It's made me who I am," she says as he finally makes his way to follow her. She shrugs as she starts up to the main level. "Sure, I grieved for a while, but one day I woke up, bought a box of blonde hair dye, and decided I could either keep letting it control my life, or I could pack it away and choose to see the good in life instead of the bad."

"You shouldn't compartmentalize," he tells her quietly, "It isn't healthy."

She shoots him a raised eyebrow over her shoulder as if to say he's a hypocrite, which he has to agree with.

"I know firsthand," he adds, indirectly conceding her unspoken point. "I don't want you to end up like me."

"Trust me when I say there is no danger of that," she replies, pushing the door open and turning back to look at him as she holds it. There's amusement around the edges of her eyes, but the sadness is too overwhelming for it to take any kind of dominance. She's trying for levity, though. "I have no desire to take up a bow and arrow and run around Starling City wearing really tight leather pants, so don't worry."

His lips twitch slightly despite his resolve to stay serious. She needs it, and her phrasing reminds him of just how silly it all sounds. "Good."

When they reach her car, she turns to face him before getting in, her bottom lip between her teeth once more. Her eyes flick up to his before she speaks. "Look, I get what you're saying. I do. This is just- It's how I deal with it. Everyone's got their way. Yours is to take it out as the Arrow and use it for motivation, mine is to separate myself from it completely. I give myself a couple of weeks each year to remember, and then I put it back where it belongs. I was a different person when my father was alive, and compartmentalizing everything helps me to forget her. I'm better this way."

He can't even pretend he understands her logic, but he trusts her. So, instead of protesting again, he simply nods, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder gently. He doesn't allow himself to question the way his hand lingers, trailing down her arm as he lets it fall back to his side. "OK. If you ever change your mind about that, though, the offer to talk still stands."

She gives him a half-smile in return. "It's a two-way street, Oliver."

* * *

He takes the bike home, as has become his habit since he started walking Felicity to her car at night. His 'black driver' really doesn't need to take him _everywhere_, and he feels guilty making Diggle wait for both of them, especially with Lyla waiting for him at home. Their reconciliation after Russia is still going strong, despite their busy schedules. He's made a conscious effort to ensure Digg gets more time off when she's in town, hoping that at least one of them can hold down a relationship for more than a few months.

On his way to the Manor, he decides he doesn't actually want to go home right yet. He's been getting home progressively later, and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Maybe, if he can slip in after Thea heads to bed, he can avoid the interrogation for one night. He loves his sister, he does, but her stubborn streak reminds him too much of himself. With this in mind, he turns aimlessly, surprised when he finds himself outside Laurel's apartment building. Once upon a time, he came here every night just to watch her in her apartment, to imagine what would happen if he were inside with her, unwinding for the night. He used to wonder what it would be like if he'd said yes to her offer to move in with her all those years ago, instead of balking. Would they live together in this apartment? Would they live somewhere else? What would their nightly routine be like? Would he cook her dinner, or would they order in? Would they share a bottle of wine as she tells him about her day, or would they talk about something else entirely?

Instead of his mind following those familiar scenarios, he finds himself trying to remember the last time he came here. It was just after his return to Starling City after the Undertaking, he recalls. After their run-in at the cemetery and Tommy's grave, when she told him they could never be together. He realizes that was when it started. It was when he began letting the idea go. He stopped wondering what could have been, what could still be with Laurel, and focused on what the future held for himself as Oliver Queen. He stopped visiting her apartment. He stopped pretending he could have been or would ever be a part of her life. Maybe he's closer to moving on from that idea than he realized. He'll always love Laurel, yes, but he isn't _in_ love with her anymore. He no longer finds himself consumed with the desire to be a permanent fixture in her life. As he watches her pack her belongings into boxes with her father, laughing and joking, he knows that he'll be fine without Laurel Lance, and she'll be better off without him.

He feels more at peace with the revelation than he thought he would, and tries to reconcile his reaction with his expectation as he starts the ride home aimlessly. He always thought the day the door closed for good would send him into a downward spiral to rival all others, but he doesn't feel that way at all. He actually feels a little relieved, to be honest. The pressure surrounding a possible reconciliation with Laurel has ruled too many of his actions since the day he returned from the island, and letting it all go is liberating in a way he doesn't expect.

Looking up, he realizes that he's ended up outside a different apartment in his random turns away from Laurel's. Frowning, he looks up at the window covered by polka-dotted curtains. Usually Felicity's window remains uncovered until she turns in for the night, a fact he's surprised that he knows without having to think about it. Sure, he's been checking up on her a lot more recently, but he hasn't realized how deeply ingrained her routine is in his mind until now.

As though sensing something is off, he sees her pull the curtains aside and survey the rooftops before turning her gaze to the street below. Realization that she's more aware of his extracurricular activities than he thought strikes him and he smiles while shaking his head in disbelief. Only Felicity would think to check rooftops first. He freezes when her eyes linger on his spot in the shadows of the alley across from her building, wondering if she knows that their gazes are locked, but dismisses the idea immediately. It's ridiculous. He needs to get away from here and clear his head, but he can't move until she leaves. He can't even imagine the reaction he'll get if she actually catches him outside her apartment. Instead, he takes in her baggy t-shirt and sweats, the glass of wine in her hand, and the phone pressed to her ear, her eyes slightly pink from what he assumes are tears until she turns away and re-covers the window. He feels something pulling at his chest at the sight she made, framed in the window. Obviously she's more affected by memories of her father than she lets on, but he supposes that's understandable, given that today _is_ the anniversary.

* * *

He finally makes it home to find Thea still awake. Dropping his head down to his chest momentarily as she calls out his name, he makes the trip to the sitting room to find her on the couch, eyeing him speculatively.

"Where were you so late?" She asks, a suggestive tone colouring her voice.

He fixes her with a steady look. "The office. I needed to take care of a few things."

"See, I know that's not true because I dropped by earlier, and you were nowhere to be found," she tells him, sitting up with glinting eyes, "Admit it, Ollie. You were with her, weren't you?"

"With who?" He asks, playing dumb very badly.

His sister rolls her eyes. "You know who I'm talking about. When do I get to meet her? Officially, I mean, not as your secretary."

"Thea…" He growls, trying very hard to hold on to his patience. His sister continues to look up at him innocently and he clenches his teeth. "I was at the office for a bit, but then Felicity needed me to sign a few things and she'd already gone home, so I met her, and then I stopped by Laurel's. Happy?"

The brunette's lips turn down in a frown. "Laurel? I thought you were done with that. Don't get me wrong, she's great, I just assumed… After Tommy and the whole rehab thing…"

"I am…" He says slowly, wondering why he's still talking about this. He should just walk away. "She's moving to Coast City in a couple of weeks. I stopped by to see if she needed any help packing."

Thea blinks in surprise. "Seriously? Wow."

"So what about you?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What about me?" She returns, too innocently.

"Oh, so you can ask me for an itinerary of my day but I can't do the same?"

"Nope," she replies, popping the 'p' and grinning.

He can't help but smile as he shakes his head in disbelief at her. He's been smiling a lot more in recent months, something Thea's noticed if the way her eyes light up at it are any indication.

"I should get some sleep," he says finally, "Goodnight, Speedy."

"Night, Ollie," she replies softly as he ascends the stairs.

* * *

True to her word, Felicity seems better the next day at the office. She even manages to keep her obvious anger mostly in check when Isabel comes up at lunch to demand an update on several mergers he's handling.

"Well, at least you're organized, at any rate," the brunette sighs as Felicity promptly hands her the files.

"What are secretaries for, if not to maintain the organization their employers lack?" She responds, looking up at Isabel with a sickly sweet smile on her face. He ducks his head to hide his smirk as Isabel's head tilts. He shouldn't be so amused; it's unprofessional.

"Not much, as far as I can see. You've proven utterly incompetent at most other aspects of this job."

"That's because I am vastly over qualified for this job," Felicity points out, her teeth grinding together before muttering under her breath, "And yet somehow simultaneously _under_ qualified."

"What exactly did you _do _in the IT department?" Isabel asks, an over-the-top innocence to her voice. "Or is that the wrong 'W' question to ask?"

"Felicity was the one they directed me to when I asked for the best employee in the department," Oliver intervenes quickly, seeing the tension start to escalate past amusing levels and into imminent-catfight territory. Normally, he would let Felicity handle things herself, but he can sense when the situation needs a mediator, especially with her mood as of late. Neither of them can afford her saying something they'll regret. He makes sure to keep his voice firm as he alerts them to his presence. "Her supervisor told me she was the fastest-rising employee in IT, solely based on her abilities. She wrote the security codes for the company's databases, so it's thanks to her that our information is more secure than any other company's."

At this Isabel quirks an eyebrow. "Really now?" Felicity nods slightly, trying not to show embarrassment at the acknowledgement as Isabel turns her attention to Oliver. "Then why remove such a valuable asset from IT?"

"Purely selfish reasons, I'm afraid," he answers with a sigh. He digs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels in an attempt to further diffuse the tension. If he's relaxed, maybe they'll catch on. "We developed a friendship. Given my lack of technological skills, I thought it best to take pre-emptive measures to deal with the disruptions it would cause in my day. More important than that, though, I trust Felicity _and _her capabilities, and I don't appreciate your insinuations that she's here for any other reason. My father made the mistake of surrounding himself with people who wanted to stab him in the back. I understand that's unavoidable in the business world, but I don't intend to welcome people I don't trust into my inner circle willingly."

He can tell Isabel understands his underlying message in the way she raises her chin just a bit while fixing him with a cool look. "An admirable undertaking, if not unrealistic."

He stiffens at the phrasing she uses before telling himself to calm down. It's not her fault she chose the word which reminds him of his greatest failure to date. "Undoubtedly. If you'll excuse us, Felicity and I have an appointment we need to get to."

Isabel smirks. "_Undoubtedly_."

He turns to look at Felicity after Isabel departs to find her glaring daggers after the Russian brunette.

"Sorry, you didn't have to do that," she finally says when she realizes he's looking at her. "She just makes me so…" She growls in frustration instead of using words.

Chuckling under his breath, he has to agree with her. Isabel isn't all bad, but she does have her moments.

"Um, Oliver?" She asks suddenly, her brows knitting together as she stares at her computer screen. "I'm not seeing any appointments scheduled right now. Did I…?"

"No, I decided about half an hour ago that we're going to lunch. I didn't bother to call and book it with you, though. I hope you don't mind."

She opens her mouth, and then closes it when she sees the teasing glint in his eye and fixes him with a look. "Very funny."

"I was actually being serious about half of that though," he tells her, grinning, "Grab your coat."

They head with Diggle to a diner a couple of blocks away instead of Big Belly Burger, keeping some variety to their meals. Digg would never tell them outright that things with Carly are still a bit awkward, but he's seen enough of their interactions to know the other man appreciates their widened tastes. Working the hours they usually do, they eat out a lot. About once a week, in fits of domesticity, Felicity makes a lasagne or a casserole and brings it to the foundry, insisting they eat something that won't counteract the workouts they dedicate themselves to. Usually her cooking is pretty good, except a few of her more unfortunate experiments which failed.

On their way back up to the office, the elevator is deserted and he finally gets the chance to ask what he's wanted to all day. "How are you doing?"

He takes in the slight tensing of her shoulders as she replies, "Fine, you?"

He stares at her with a raised eyebrow until she relents.

"Better than yesterday."

"Good."

They ride the rest of the way in silence and he doesn't ask again.

* * *

He and Diggle both arrive at the foundry early that night, as though simply being there will bring the progress they want. They spend the time until Felicity arrives checking and cleaning their weapons.

"Felicity seemed good at lunch today," Digg comments, focusing on his gun as he speaks.

"Yeah, she did," Oliver replies, wondering where the other man is going with this.

"Did she say anything else to you about how she's doing?" He asks, putting the gun down. "This whole fluctuating mood thing isn't like her at all, no matter the reasons behind it."

Oliver half shrugs. "Not really. She said she was doing better than yesterday, so I guess that's something."

Diggle sighs, clearly just as anxious as he is at the prospect of not being able to do anything to help. "I guess we just have to wait it out, then."

"It's the only thing she'll let us do," he concurs. Not that he's happy about that fact.

"Hey, why the long faces?" Felicity asks when she joins them not a minute later.

"No reason," they chorus.

Understanding dawns on her expression as she stops walking abruptly, pointing a finger at them. "You were talking about me, weren't you?"

"And you call Oliver the self-absorbed one," Digg snorts, attempting to lighten the mood.

Felicty's returning smile is slightly strained. "Nah, it's fine. I guess I can now say the one good thing my father did for me was ensure I was the topic of conversation between two ridiculously good-looking men. I can guarantee that wouldn't happen if he were alive and well."

Both he and Digg shoot each other questioning looks as she heads over to her computers and sits down. Her words were meant to carry the lightening mood, but the bite behind them indicates truth. Obviously Felicity and her father had their issues, but this supposition only raises more questions. Not for the first time, he's realizing how little he really knows about Felicity Smoak. Sure, he knows little details about her life, but the big picture of her past remains more or less a mystery. Perhaps more surprising is the burning desire he feels to right this oversight of his.

Half an hour into their workout, they're interrupted by Felicity making a triumphant noise. Halting their motions immediately, they wait for explanation.

"Oh, sorry," she says sheepishly when she realizes they're staring at her, "That was on an unrelated note. Remember that search I told you I was running on those companies last week?"

Oliver nods, trying not to show his impatience. He wants progress on Whicker, not this.

"Well, it turns out it's a recurring pattern reaching pretty far back. I _knew_ they weren't isolated incidents. I mean, they had a different M.O. each time but that result is way too specific _not_ to be related."

Diggle looks thoroughly confused. "And this helps us how?"

Felicity remains silent for a moment before finally admitting, "It doesn't, but I need something to occupy my time while the other searches are running."

They're just about to return to their workout when her computer dings and she calls their attention again.

"I promise this is actually related," she says as they make their way over, water bottles in hand. "I've been simultaneously checking into Whicker's lost months and checking for any similarities that can tie the faked missing persons reports back to a common origin while the backlog of surveillance footage runs through. Whicker's financials aren't showing payments made in the usual manner to any reputable hacker I've heard of, so he must have someone off the grid covering his tracks." She pauses for a few keystrokes before resuming her explanation. "The computer finally returned something concrete. Or, well, not concrete, which is the point."

"You lost me," Oliver says, brows furrowing. Diggle looks just as confused.

"Well, Whicker claims he spent his months away touring Europe, much like you," she begins, typing as she talks now, "And his credit card activity supports that on the surface, unlike yours. You could have at least put some effort into faking it a little better, by the way. I debunked that lie within seconds when I started looking. If anyone else were so inclined to look, you'd have some pretty tough questions to answer."

"I'll remember that in the future," he tells her, hoping to appease her enough to get her back on track.

"No need," she waves her hand dismissively, "I already went back and retroactively created a paper trail for you, and I, unlike whoever did it for Whicker, left no trace of it behind. You're welcome. Odd," she says suddenly, stopping her typing and tilting her head, "Whicker must have met whoever doctored the missing persons reports after he came back, because the financial doctoring is rather obvious, it just took me too long to think to check into it. I should have seen it sooner, but I've been… distracted. Anyways, the missing persons reports took some digging to uncover the fraud, indicating Whicker made an upgrade between then and now."

"Can you use that?" Diggle asks, moving closer in interest.

Felicity snorts, "Can Oliver use a bow? Sorry, ignore me. Yes, I can use it. Right now I'm checking back into Whicker's financials to see who was on his payroll before the Undertaking, and I'm confident I'll find something because, well, whoever he used before frankly isn't that good. I mean, Whicker's smart, but he knows nothing about how to determine a hacker's skill, or lack thereof. Not totally his fault, but I expected better."

Oliver's lips twitch in amusement as he watches her type at lightning speed, swiveling her head between monitors to periodically check the security footage. Realizing exactly how many tasks her brain is currently focusing on, and feeling a headache coming on just thinking about tackling all of that himself, he pulls out a chair.

She freezes. "What are you doing?"

"Watching the footage from Whicker's while you focus on that."

She contemplates his answer for a moment before continuing to type. "Thanks."

"You can ask us for help, you know," Digg tells her, seeming to realize the same thing Oliver just did. "You don't have to burn yourself out."

She shrugs. "This is what I do. You guys beat people, and each other, up, and I sit behind the computer and get you the information that allows you to do it. What good am I if I can't do that?"

"You won't be any good if you give yourself a permanent migraine."

"I'll remember that in the future," she returns with a faint smile, echoing Oliver's earlier words as she clicks the mouse a couple of times. Her voice already sounds far away as she slips back into her digital world. Digg moves away to shower and change before relieving Oliver to do the same. When he returns, no progress has been made, and as much as it kills him, he sits back down and goes through the footage with Digg. There's no intel suggesting a shipment departing tonight, so there isn't even a point to checking out the shipping yard to pass the time.

After another half an hour of fast-forwarding through the camera footage, he feels himself going cross-eyed. How does Felicity do this all day? Just when he's about to give in and admit temporary defeat, movement stirs his attention. He sits up quickly, hitting the play button to start the footage in real time. Digg notices his sudden movement and touches Felicity lightly on the shoulder to bring her out of her 'zone' as she calls it. She looks disoriented for a second before turning to the screen, her knee bumping Oliver's as she over-calculates the force required to turn the chair.

"Sorry," she mumbles, swiveling back a bit before reaching over to grab the keyboard in front of him. At his questioning glance, she explains, "I need to capture this so we don't have to find it in here every time we need to look at it."

She types a few commands in before playing the video. They watch as a car pulls up and Whicker emerges, talking on a cell phone. He's followed out by another man and Felicity begins typing furiously, freezing an image of him and transferring it to another monitor to run recognition on it while they continue watching. Whicker hangs up the phone, then turns to the other man and says something before they both head inside. Skipping ahead, they see the two men emerge after a couple of hours and shake hands before the other man departs. Whicker doesn't go back inside right away as expected, though. He pulls out his phone once more, a more serious, calculating look on his face as he speaks into it, staring after the car.

"Can you tell what he's saying?" She asks. He shakes his head, as does Digg, and she zooms in. "Better?"

He squints at the screen. "I think he's speaking Russian."

"That would make sense if he's using the same contacts as his brother. They were based out of Moscow, right?" She asks, swiveling away to the monitor she was using before. "Of course, the call could be unrelated, but who else would he be speaking Russian to? I've been trying to connect Little Whicker's Russian contacts to Big Whicker, but no real luck so far. They were discreet, I'll give them that. I _have_ managed to find a trail of payments in his financials stretching years back before the Undertaking, and that connects to an offshore account that his first not-so-secret digital sidekick set up very poorly, which was, wait for it…" She trails off, hitting a few buttons to bring up the records and sitting triumphantly back in her chair. "Accessed from Russia over the months Whicker was gone."

"So you're saying Whicker was for sure in Russia for those months?" Digg asks, leaning forward to study the screen.

"Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. I'm guessing he spent that time in Russia developing relationships with his brother's people and probably found a better hacker there, though it wouldn't be hard. Once he figured the heat was turned down enough, he came back and used those connections, and his new friend, to restart his brother's legacy and make it look like it had been happening since before he left."

"Can you get any hard evidence to support that?" Oliver asks. It's a good theory, one without many holes, but he needs concrete information to confront Whicker with if they have any hope of him confessing.

"I'm trying, but I haven't found any recognizable patterns that I can use to eliminate the decoy IP addresses and zero in on the real one they're hiding. I'll keep going at it from different angles, though. Eventually something will give."

With that, they decide to call it a night as Felicity finally shows her susceptibility to headaches, rubbing her temples as she leans her head forward and closes her eyes.

"You good?" He asks her, making sure the weapons are secured.

"I'm fine," she replies, her voice muffled by her position.

"I just… I know it's been a rough week. It would be understandable if you wanted to take tomorrow off."

"I can't do that, and not just because I know how time-sensitive this is." She pauses, breathing deeply before raising her head. "I won't let him dictate my life from the grave. I can't. He's the one who chose to take his own life. He made a selfish choice, so I'm making my own selfish choice to not let it affect me. Sitting around won't help anyone; I'll be far more useful here."

"Ok," he says simply, moving to grab her jacket for her as she stands. He knows pushing her won't help, but he wants to make sure she knows the option to take time off is still open.

When she turns to him, she looks poised to say something, but pauses as though warring with herself before finally giving in to the impulse. "I'm not usually… sad when it comes to him. I try to remember him before, when he would still smile at my mom and do things like take me ice fishing or take apart computers with me only to put them back together again, which was a bit more my speed than all the outdoorsy stuff. Those memories are the ones that make me sad, but I don't think of them very often. I'm too consumed by the memory of how he was in the years before he killed himself, and it just makes me angry. I just… I love the memories of him just being my dad, but he stopped being my dad long before he died. I hate the person he was for the last years of his life, and I hate what he put my mother and I through. So no, taking time off won't help, because I'll just sit around angrily and then Mom will call and I'll be mad and she won't and it'll just start the fight that I really hate having with her." She stops abruptly to breathe and calm herself, clearly not meaning to say as much as she did.

Oliver nods in understanding as he tries to make sense of the faint coldness in her eyes. Thinking about it, he can only remember seeing this look when she's referring to her father. Not for the first time, he feels the nagging curiosity about what happened between them, but shoves it back down. Before he can filter himself, though, he's speaking.

"I feel the same way about my father." The honesty of the statement surprises both of them, judging by the way her eyes widen. "I love the memories of him being my father, but it's all tainted by what he did in the last years of his life, and I hate him for that."

"It's hard, balancing the two," she finally says after a moment of silence.

"It is," he agrees quietly.

As he follows her out to her car, he finds himself frowning. He doesn't know why he felt so compelled to share his inner struggle concerning his father with her. Sure, he always feels like he can talk to Felicity, but he's never wanted to tarnish her with his inner demons. She's the bright spot in most of his days, and he could never forgive himself if he took that brightness away from her. Now, however, as he gives her a soft smile in place of a goodnight and runs a hand down from her shoulder, squeezing her elbow gently, he wonders if maybe he's been kidding himself. Digg once accused him of putting Laurel on a pedestal and he considers the possibility that he's done the same thing to Felicity. He's made her out to be the epitome of good, the exact opposite of him, despite her protests. He's always thought of her as the light to his dark, and treated her accordingly, but if this past week has shown him anything, it's that no one is perfect. No one is all light all the time. As she would say, everyone has something.

A wry smile twists his lips as he gets on his bike, realizing that he can add fathers committing suicide to their list of things in common.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so the plot is progressing slowly but surely! I'm not too sure how long this is going to be yet, but I know where I want to go with it and I figure I'll just keep writing until I get there. I've tried mapping out every chapter of a story and it always seems to get away on me and ends up convoluted and messy. So I'm going to try to just go with the flow and see what happens. I feel like Felicity's a bit off from who she normally is, but I guess that's kind of the point. I'm exploring what I think she would be like if she really did live with her father committing suicide and all the mental baggage that comes with that. She's mentioned that she deals with it by compartmentalizing and only letting it out during this time of year, so that's why she's been more agitated and more quick to anger than she usually is. Usually, she removes herself from the stress of their job and deals with it privately, but this year she's trying to shove it all together and it's not quite working out as she planned. The next few chapters will explain her background and her relationship with her father a bit more, and while it isn't the complete picture, hopefully the bit of explanation does some justice to why she's different. Now, I shamelessly ask for reviews and justify it by saying that reviews let me know what you think is working, and what isn't, which allows me to make adjustments accordingly. **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Ok, so to make up for my late update last week, I'm posting this one on time! In this one, we pick things up just a bit where Olicity is concerned.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

He makes a conscious effort to get to work on time. Not that he couldn't do so on any given day, but there are certain habits he keeps up for appearances sake, and it takes an effort to remember that Felicity's already having a rough enough time without him complicating her day job as well as her night one. He's been getting restless with the careless billionaire image anyways, so maybe this will finally take his reputation in the right direction. He's tried before, but investors seem set in their impressions of him without giving him a chance, and he's already stretched thin enough as it is without the strain of trying to become a more responsible public version of himself.

He's rewarded for his forethought with an utterly shocked expression on Felicity's face when she hangs up her coat and turns to see him already behind his desk, a coffee cup in the center of hers. He can't help but grin at her surprise, one she tentatively returns before completing the walk to her desk and starting up her computer for the day. After setting a few more things up on her desk, she makes her way to his office.

"What's this? Oliver Queen, at the office before eight AM?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as she approaches his desk.

"Hard to believe, I know," he plays along, glad to see her happy.

"Your 9AM will be glad."

"And what about my executive assistant?"

She fights a smile but loses as it spreads across her face. "She's pretty glad, too," she admits, before sobering and pointing a warning finger at him. "Though this in no way means I'm getting you coffee at any point today. I don't believe in manipulating men into doing what I want by using rewards."

He raises an eyebrow at her, unable to stop himself from commenting. "Good to know."

Her face flushes as she realizes what she said. "I did _not_ mean for that to sound dirty."

"I know what you meant," he reassures her, flipping open one of the folders on his desk as he does so. Taking the cue, she starts the retreat to her desk before stopping at the door and turning back to him.

"I forgot to tell you," she starts, moving closer to his desk in order to lower her voice, "The guy didn't come up in any criminal databases, so I checked corporate ones on a hunch when I got home last night. Turns out the guy is just the CEO of Ritter Limited, so he's probably not connected to Whicker's side job."

"Ritter Limited? Why does that sound familiar?" He asks, frowning.

"It came across your desk as a possible acquisition a couple of months back, but your lesser half thought it was a bad investment. Turns out she isn't right about everything; the company is thriving now, and in a few years it could really make a name for itself."

As she heads back to her desk, Oliver feels a fresh wave of frustration hit him. Of course, the one lead they have as to the larger connections in the ring turns out to be unrelated. He makes a split-second decision to confront Whicker tonight, regardless of his lack of evidence. Whicker doesn't have to know he can't prove his involvement; all he needs to do is convince him he can so that he'll confess. He's had enough of sitting on the sidelines and covert surveillance. It's time to take action.

* * *

"For the record, I still think this is a bad idea," Felicity says over the comm.

"Noted," he replies, perhaps a bit too sharply.

Undeterred, she continues her argument. "I mean, he's not stupid. He'll know you have nothing if you don't present him with any hard proof."

"Felicity…" He sighs, though it comes out more as a growl. She doesn't reply, and he takes it as her way of conceding.

Getting in is easy for him. All it takes is a strategically placed 'distraction arrow' (as Felicity dubbed them) and the attention of the guards is diverted enough for him to slip in over the back wall Digg pointed out earlier. He finds Whicker in the sitting room, sipping scotch and smoking a cigar which he promptly drops, still burning, on the carpet when he spies the Arrow.

"W-Wh-What do you want?" Whicker stutters, the fear clear on his face.

"To talk about your side business," Oliver replies through the voice modulator.

Whicker stumbles backward, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the ground. "I- I don- I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me. I know you've picked up your brother's human trafficking ring."

At this Whicker starts to laugh nervously, glancing around the room in a desperate search for an escape or a weapon. "Th-That's ridiculous."

Oliver stays silent, staring the other man down while he waits for him to break under the pressure. They always do. Instead, Whicker seems to get bolder with every passing second.

"Prove it," he challenges. "You can't, can you? You don't have any solid proof."

He hears Felicity make some sort of 'I told you so' noise in his ear before he admits temporary defeat. "I will soon enough. Think about that, while it's not too late to stop and turn yourself in."

With that, Oliver turns on his heel and leaves the compound swiftly. It didn't go quite as hoped, but his back-up plan was to make Whicker nervous enough he'd make a mistake, and he'd seen the sheer terror in his eyes at the Arrow's appearance. All in due time, especially with the bug he planted while Whicker was distracted.

Returning to the foundry, he finds Felicity and Diggle on the training mat. Digg is trying to show her how to read her opponent's body language in order to launch the best attack, but it doesn't look like they've gotten far. Her back is to him and her concentration is on Digg, and before he can stop himself he approaches silently from behind. He knows Digg has seen him, but Felicity still hasn't. Quickly, he reaches out and pulls her to him, hand over her mouth, the other around her waist in an attack hold. It's the type of thing a street thug would do, but he wants to see her reaction time. If he had his way, this would be the only type of situation she'd ever find herself in that requires self-defence, but he's accepted the inevitability of another situation like the one last month that started all of this.

She's definitely surprised, but manages to dig her elbow into his side with enough force to tell him her reaction is genuine. He's even a bit surprised to find himself giving in to her defensive jab and crumpling a bit to the side as she whirls her body around, intent on delivering what he's sure is a pretty hard punch before he catches her wrist. She looks like she just suffered a minor heart attack, but Digg's right; she's catching on quickly, if her reaction time is anything to go by.

"Good, but you should be more aware of your surroundings," he praises with a dip of his head. He doesn't think before he does it, and thus only realizes how close the action brings their faces after the fact. His sudden awareness of their proximity startles him, and he drops her wrist swiftly before continuing on his path to the weapons cabinet to rid himself of his bow.

"_Bell_, Oliver!" She manages to choke out, still clearly not recovered. Digg chuckles as she clutches at her chest, trying to regain her breath.

"That would defeat the purpose."

She glowers at him as he heads to the back room to change his clothes. By the time he gets back, she's in front of her computers again, typing away with her eyes narrowed. She reaches up to readjust her glasses, only to seemingly remember she put her contacts in for training with Digg and letting her hand fall back to the keyboard. He takes up her vacated spot on the mat and he and Digg spar for a bit before her voice interrupts them.

"Uh… guys? You're going to want to hear this."

He can feel the sense of foreboding in his gut even before he hears what the bug picked up. Bracing his hands on the back of her chair, he indicates for her to press play, almost holding his breath.

"The Arrow was just here!" Whicker's voice comes through in a panic. "That's all you have to say?! I was just attacked!" Oliver frowns in confusion. "I know what I signed up for when I agreed to cover for you, and it sure as hell wasn't this! I'm on the guy's hit list now!" Another pause. "Very funny! What the hell am I supposed to do?! I can't just keep going ahead with this! Especially not so soon after… this!" The silence stretching on almost makes him think Whicker's hung up, but then he speaks again. "No, he didn't have any proof." A pause. "He was a little busy threatening me, so I doubt he had time to plant anything." Oliver's stomach twists in the silence. "Fine. I'll meet you at the usual place and have one of my guys sweep the room." The sound of footsteps retreating indicates the end of any useful information.

"What the hell was that about?" Digg asks, breaking the silence engulfing them.

"That's a good question," Oliver responds, pushing himself off Felicity's chair and heading for some indeterminate location. He needs to move, to feel as though he's doing something. "Will his guy pick up the bug?"

"Depends on what he's using and how thorough he is. It's not detectable by most devices since it's so recently developed, by yours truly I might add, but if the guy is thorough enough it's possible," Felicity responds, typing once more.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the cameras to see when Whicker left and where he went, but I'm losing him at the same place I lost that other car with the woman in it."

"So he could be meeting this woman?" Digg asks.

The blonde shrugs. "It's possible. I certainly wouldn't rule it out, but he could be going any other number of places, too."

"So, once again, in an attempt to get answers we ended up with more questions."

"That pretty much sums it up, yeah."

Oliver sighs in frustration at yet another obstacle they need to clear. This is starting to feel a lot more like a storm brewing than he'd care for.

* * *

Digg heads out after another hour of theorizing gets them nowhere, leaving Oliver and Felicity to consider doing the same. After securing the weapons, he turns to find her staring off into space, a troubled look on her face.

"You OK?" he asks as he approaches. "We'll figure this out eventually."

"Yeah," she replies distractedly, "It's not that. I was just… thinking."

"About?" He prompts, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms.

She seems surprised that he asked at first, before covering it with a half-shrug as she looks at the floor. "Earlier, when you…"

She leaves the sentence hanging, but he knows what she's referring to. He's not sure what exactly she's thinking about in connection to that, but he finds himself figuring it's best to keep the conversation in more professional waters. "Your reaction time was good. I expected you to freeze up."

She gives him a sad smile. "I did, too."

Confused, he frowns at her. "You don't sound happy about that."

"No, don't get me wrong, I'm glad I didn't totally panic," she corrects, waving her hands in front of her, "I just… I never wanted violence to become so instinctual to me. I'm not a violent person, Oliver. I _won't_ be."

Her adamant response further confuses him, as it did the first time he noticed it. He doesn't want to press, but he can't deny it's been bothering him. "It's self-defence, Felicity."

"I know that, but… it's just the tip of the iceberg, isn't it? I mean, I started self-defence, and now we're moving on to reading body language in a fight. I just… Where's the line supposed to be? Where does defence stop and offence begin?"

He considers that for a moment. "I'm not sure there is a line."

"That's exactly my problem," she sighs, "I've learned the basics. Isn't that enough? Digg and I can just keep working on those."

He shakes his head immediately. "That may protect you from street thugs, but… I brought you into this life and I won't let you get hurt because of it. You need to learn this stuff so you can protect yourself."

She's silent for a long time, twisting back and forth in her chair before standing abruptly. He watches her start to pace, confused. Felicity isn't usually one for pacing. It takes him a minute of this before he senses the anger rolling off her in waves and his confusion deepens.

"Why the sudden concern?" She finally asks, her voice sharp. "I've been a part of this team for about two years, Oliver, and suddenly you jump on the self-defence bandwagon?"

He doesn't say anything at first, trying to figure out how to explain it to her. He can't very well attribute his concern to the suddenly acute fear that he'll lose her; it would reveal too much. Yet he finds himself speaking before his brain can filter his reply.

"Felicity," he says softly, reaching out to halt her motions and turning her to face him by the elbow, "I- Digg and I, we worry about you. Knowing that you know this stuff, that you can take care of yourself if it ever comes to that… it helps." He didn't mean to be so honest, and she obviously wasn't expecting him to be. Their eyes lock, and he can't stop himself from uttering one more word. "Please."

She sighs once more, her eyes closing in defeat. He feels the warmth of the skin of her elbow beneath his hand and realizes he's been rubbing his thumb across her arm subconsciously, but can't seem to stop. They're standing closer than he first intended, but he doesn't want to move away as he takes in her closed eyes and her deep, calming breaths. She looks as though she's struggling to hold on to her resolve but is losing the battle, the outcome clear in her eyes as she finally opens them to stare up at him.

"Fine," she concedes before sliding her eyes from his and focusing on everything and anything but him. She doesn't move away though, and he takes that as an encouraging sign.

"I wasn't a violent person before the island," he says before he can stop himself, and her eyes snap back to his face. For his part, he concentrates on the image of his hand on her arm, thumb still moving lightly over her skin. The movement soothes him, allowing him to feel a level of calm when referring to the island that he's rarely felt. "I couldn't even kill a bird for food. I learned quickly, though, that it was unavoidable. Kill or die. Later, it became kill or be killed, and that brought a whole new level of necessity to learning to fight. I've seen enough death in my life. I won't let you become another casualty if I can help it, and teaching you to fight is my way of trying to do that. I tried to convince myself that I could be enough to protect you, but I need to remember that I can't always be there."

Her eyes, focused on his face when he was speaking moments before, slide to the right as she takes a shaky breath. He's glad she doesn't try to respond with empty platitudes or meaningless attempts to pretend to understand. Instead, they stand in silence for a minute as Oliver tries to regain his grip on the present rather than slipping into the past that too often consumes him. He slides his hand down her arm without thinking about it. The connection is enough to ground him, and he wants a more firm grip on reality. When he reaches her hand, he wraps his fingers slowly around it, focusing on his actions as though they are the most fascinating thing he's seen in a while. He wonders if he's imagining her increasingly rapid breathing as he shoves the part of his brain telling him to let go and take a step away to the back of his mind. He knows this is a bad idea, but he can't stop himself.

When she speaks suddenly, her voice is uneven and her eyes are still turned to the right of them. "My father used to drink," she blurts out. Taking another shaky breath, she slips her fingers between his without seeming to realize it. "For the last five years of his life, he would go to work and make straight for the alcohol when he came home. I'm sure he wasn't even sober when he parked the car out front half the time. One night, my mother called him out on it, but it didn't help. After that, he'd just grab the bottle of whatever hard liquor he'd brought home and lock himself away in his home office. Mom would try to get him to come out, to stop drinking, but he never would. He'd just get angry and throw things.

"He must have realized how violent he was becoming, and maybe the one sliver of good still left in him protested it, because he went out and bought a punching bag and some other training equipment and set it up in the garage. Instead of locking himself away in his office, he started locking himself in the garage while he beat away his frustration at the life he was stuck in. My mother tried everything to get him to stop, to make him happy again, but nothing worked. She exhausted herself trying to fix whatever was broken, and I exhausted myself trying to keep her from slipping away from me, too. Eventually I stopped trying. It was easier not to care anymore, so I caved to the desire to turn it all off. I hated him for doing that to us. If we weren't good enough, he could have left. I wish he had. Instead, I watched him self-destruct for years before he finally put us all out of our misery."

She inhales sharply as she finishes talking, bringing her free hand up to wipe away a stray tear at the memories he's sure are now flooding her mind. Her tone is bitter when she continues, and he has to focus on her to remind himself that this is actually Felicity talking. "And he didn't even have the decency to do it in the same country. No, he had to complicate things so all we were left with was an empty box to bury. Not that we would have had anything to put in it if he'd jumped in front of a train in America, but… I was tempted to fill it with alcohol bottles but I don't think my mom would have appreciated that."

"So instead, you keep your anger bottled up inside," he predicts, studying her face closely as she nods. Her eyes fall to the floor, lingering on their joined hands for a moment. He can tell she's debating whether or not to pull away from what is surely inappropriate, but he squeezes her fingers lightly in reassurance. "That's why you don't want to give in to violent impulses. You're afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop."

She nods again, finally looking up at him. "My father wasn't a violent person, until one day he was. I drink to prove to myself that I can do it without letting it control my life, but the last two years, the violence became just as much a part of him as the drinking did. It was like it was an instinctive response to his unhappiness. I don't want to become like him. I couldn't do that to myself or to my mother, so I purposely exaggerated how bad I was at self-defence the first time, hoping you guys would just let it be."

He blinks, unable to picture Felicity as the type of person she's describing. "You won't become your father."

"How can you know that?" She whispers, her eyes reflecting just how terrified she is of the possibility.

He reaches up with his free hand to cradle her cheek, wiping away a small tear with his thumb gently. "Because I won't let you."

She holds his stare for a few seconds before she turns her head away and steps back, pulling her hand from his. He tries not to feel the loss of proximity, but the small nagging feeling in his stomach betrays him. He needs to focus. Whatever feelings have been stirred up recently need to be shoved back down. She seems to be trying to do the same as she swipes at her cheeks and turns to shut down the computers, giving a shaky laugh.

"Sorry, I'm being ridiculous."

"No, you're not."

She doesn't reply, only shrugs into her coat and turns to face him expectantly. Catching her meaning, he pushes off from the table and falls into step with her, his hand landing on the small of her back without meaning to. He feels her tense at first before deciding to go with it and relaxing into his touch. It allows him to feel like he's at least being useful, as he really has no idea what to say. He's never seen Felicity this conflicted and it kills him to have to stand idly by and watch. He finds himself wanting to take her obvious pain from her, but he knows it isn't possible.

Instead, he does the only thing he can think of when they get to her car, and shares another small piece of himself with her in the hopes that she'll at least know she isn't alone. "I wanted to be like my father until we were in that life boat and he told me what he'd been a part of. He handed me The List and then shot himself in the head so I could live. I told myself I'd never do what he did, and I'd spend the rest of the life he'd given me trying to atone for his wrongs. Sometimes I wish I could go back, though, to a time when the only thing I wanted was to be like him. It was easier then. I had blinders on, thought the world was mine for the taking. Now, the very thought of someone saying that I remind them of my father is… He's the last thing I want to be."

He can see her face tilted up to his in his peripheral vision, but stays focused on the street around them as she speaks. "Your father was a good man at the end, Oliver. He knew what he'd done was wrong. He… he did what he had to in order to make sure you survived. Mine threw himself in front of a train because he couldn't bear to live his life anymore. So I don't think it would be a horrible thing if you were a little bit like your father, minus the whole conspiring to collapse the Glades and shady corporate dealings stuff."

His lips twitch a bit as she tries to ignore the word vomit at the end, and he notices their fingers have entwined again at some point. "I'm sure there were good parts to your father, too. You said you have happy memories of him when you were a kid, and he chose a real punching bag over abuse, so there must be some redeemable qualities to the man that aren't horrible to have."

She shrugs. "I suppose so. I'd still rather avoid resembling any part of him if I can. I mean, it can only go so far, I guess, since I work with computers and so did he, but I see that as more of a career choice than a personality one, so I think I'm safe."

"Me too."

"Hey," she says softly, reaching up to touch his cheek and bringing his eyes back to hers, "You're a good man, Oliver Queen. Don't doubt that."

He smiles softly down at her, wondering how this turned in to her reassuring him, but she looks more relaxed than she did when they started this strange tennis match of sharing, so maybe it's worked both ways. "I meant what I said," he tells her as she pulls away to unlock her car, "I won't let you become your father."

"And I won't let you become yours," she replies, giving him a half-smile before sliding behind the wheel. "Goodnight, Oliver."

"Goodnight."

He makes his way back to the mansion for the night, relieved to find all occupants asleep. As he makes his way to his room, Felicity's usual message comes through that she's home safely and he types out a quick reply before sliding beneath the covers and giving in to a slightly more peaceful sleep than he's had in ages, unaware of the faint smile still on his lips.

* * *

The next morning is filled with pretending the strange intimacy of the night before never happened. The unspoken mutual agreement is clear between them when she comes in to find him already there once again, offering only a small smile before she sits at her desk and takes a sip of the coffee he placed there. He watches her for a moment longer than is strictly necessary before reminding himself to focus.

By lunch, he's going cross-eyed from staring at financial reports and prognoses, his mood only darkened by Felicity popping in to tell him she's meeting Connor again. Digg brings in Thai takeout as she's leaving and raises an eyebrow as she brushes past him to head to the elevator.

"She off to lunch with that Connor guy again?" He asks, setting the bag down on Oliver's desk.

"Yeah…" He says, his voice distracted as his eyes track her path to the elevator. When Diggle's words fully register with him, his head snaps back to focus on the older man. "She's mentioned him to you?"

Digg shrugs, "A couple of times, sure. He's some friend from IT. Why?"

"I just… Well, I'd never heard of the guy until a few weeks ago and now it seems like all she does is spend time with him. I'd feel better if I knew something more about him than he works in IT and doesn't think she's sleeping with me."

At this Digg raises an eyebrow, fighting a smile.

"Office gossip," Oliver dismisses the obvious question.

"It's not just that, man. Why are you suddenly so concerned about this guy? You've never cared about her personal life before, which I must point out, is why you don't know who Connor is."

Oliver sighs, catching himself in what has become a bad habit. Trying to appear casual, he shrugs. "I realized after her admission about her father that I don't know that much about her."

"And you want to."

"Isn't that what friends are supposed to do?" He retorts, feeling a bit defensive.

"Yeah, but there's a line between wanting to know things and prying into her personal life."

"I know that."

"Ok," Digg concedes, raising his hands in his own defence as he backs away toward the door. "Just… be careful, Oliver."

"Always am," he replies, a lightness to his tone that the conversation doesn't really warrant. "Don't worry, I won't make her angry. At least not intentionally."

Stopping at the door, Digg fixes him with a look. "That's not what I meant."

"Felicity is my friend, and I'm hers. That's as far as this goes, Digg."

Without a word, the other man turns to leave the office, but Oliver catches the skeptical look on his face in the glass as he goes.

* * *

Felicity is all smiles when she returns from lunch, rushing into his office with Digg in tow. "So I was trying to figure out what Whicker was talking about when he said he couldn't keep going so soon after his little visit, and I got an alert on my phone at lunch that explains it. There's a shipment set to depart the night after tomorrow."

"So whoever he's apparently covering for doesn't want to lose profit just because the Arrow's on to him. But who is he covering for?" Oliver questions.

Digg takes a deep breath. "Here's a crazy idea: why don't we leave that up to the cops to figure out? It _is_ their job. There's too many at the shipping yard for us to take on anyways. I'm with Felicity on this. Let's just hand it off to Lance, deliver Whicker to them, and wash our hands of it."

"Why don't we go over what we know about the whole thing again tonight and go from there?" he suggests. He doesn't know why he's so reluctant to give this one up, but he has a nagging feeling that they should hang on to it for just a bit longer.

The day crawls after that. Isabel stops by for a discussion about the company's financial direction for the next quarter and he tries not to fidget in his impatience to leave as the meeting runs long. Seeming to sense his worsening mood, Felicity knocks after the meeting has gone forty minutes over the time they were set to leave.

"Excuse me," she says, firmness in her tone that he hasn't heard in a while, "Sorry for interrupting, but Mr. Queen has an important dinner engagement that he really can't be late to."

Isabel twists her head to look up at the blonde, a calculating look in her eyes. "I'm sure whoever it is can wait."

At this, Felicity's head bows for a second before she fixes Isabel with a look of over-the-top cheer contrasting the icy tinge of her eyes. "Of course, Ms. Rochev. I'll just call Mrs. Queen right now and ensure she knows who's keeping her son from the family dinner she's tried to have three times this week. I'm sure your name will come as no surprise."

He can't see Isabel's face, but he's sure her eyes are narrowing as Felicity makes for her desk. Finally, she turns back to Oliver, a thoroughly fake smile pasted on her face as she rises. "I suppose we can pick this up tomorrow. Tell your mother I said hello."

"I will," he replies tightly, returning her fake smile with one of his own. As soon as Isabel is out of sight he breathes a sigh of relief. Making his way out of his office, he stops by Felicity's desk. "Please tell me my mother didn't _actually_ schedule a family dinner tonight."

She grins. "Nope. That's tomorrow."

He tries not to groan in frustration. He loves his mother, but she picks the worst times to host family dinners.

* * *

"Ok, so let's go over what we know one more time," Felicity sighs. They're grouped around the table, everything they have on Whicker and the human trafficking ring laid out in front of them. "Justin Whicker ran a human trafficking ring until the Hood stopped him. That was the end of it as far as we knew, so we went on our merry way.

"After the Undertaking, Brandon Whicker, businessman and List member extraordinaire, left Starling City and likely went to Russia for a few months. After his return, he takes up his brother's position as the head of the human trafficking ring, but uses some hacker friend he found in Russia to make it look like the ring started back up before he left and continued during his time away," she recites, pausing to take a breath. "You guys did some surveillance and didn't see much at the shipping yard, but saw Whicker returning from a meeting with a woman. It's unclear whether she's a girlfriend or a partner. We also saw Whicker meeting with business associates at his home, too, so it could just be innocent.

"Fast-forward to planting the bug in his house. Whicker makes a call soon after and freaks out to whoever is on the other end, revealing that his position as head of the ring is really just him covering for some unknown person. So who is this person? Why choose Whicker to cover for them? How do we connect Whicker with solid proof? How do we figure out who the mystery puppeteer is?" She finishes, taking a deep breath and huffing it out.

Digg hits the desk with his fist a bit harder than is necessary. "There are more questions than answers here. We're missing something."

"I've put some feelers out in some underground communities I definitely do _not_ frequent anymore…" She tells them, looking off to the side as she says the words. He can tell she isn't being totally honest, but decides not to ask. "None of them have come back with anything promising as of yet, but they said they'd keep their ears and eyes open for any chatter about Russian hackers who've suddenly pulled a disappearing act. In the meantime, I'm running a search on Whicker and any known associates or close friends he's got who could be tied up in this. It's a long shot, so anything your Arrow-y sense can dig up to narrow it down would be appreciated."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "My what?"

"You know, Spidey-sense? No? You _really_ need to pay more attention to the world around you."

He can only shake his head in amusement at her. "I don't have some supernatural sense that will give us answers."

Felicity considers his statement for a moment, her head tilted slightly to the side. "That's more disappointing than I thought it would be."

Digg chuckles quietly before heading over to her computers. "Need an extra set of ears to listen to the backlog of Whicker's audio?"

"Actually, I need _two_ sets of ears," she responds, sending Oliver a pointed look. "And eyes, if you can multitask."

Even though Felicity set the computers to only play back clips that deviate from the baseline of audio received, much of the noise they hear amounts to faint footsteps or innocent conversations between household staff. Three hours later, when Oliver yet again suspects he's about to go cross-eyed, movement flickers across his screen and he sits up abruptly. His sudden movement draws Digg's attention and he pauses his screen. Felicity, on the other hand, requires a light tap to the shoulder to bring her out of whatever she's doing; he tries not to ask anymore.

The three watch as Whicker comes to greet a man, Felicity immediately freezing an image of his face to send to another monitor for recognition, before escorting him inside. It could be luck, or a set-up, but seconds later sound registers in Oliver's headset and he hastily unplugs it so the other two can hear.

"I came to check on your… progress," the other man says in a thick Russian accent. This conversation sounds like it could be the break they need. If it's real.

"Everything is proceeding according to schedule," Whicker responds smoothly. The hint of uncertainty in his voice is nearly undetectable.

Unfortunately for him, the Russian picks up on it. "Except your leettle visit, right? Dit you think she vouldn't tell me?"

"We knew that was a possibility. It's being handled."

"You drew attention to yourself too qvickly. You vere supposet to stay heedin longer."

"It couldn't be helped. His computer tech is better than we thought."

At this, Felicity fights a smile before shaking her head a bit and schooling her expression into cool indifference once again. Oliver can almost hear the internal debate she's likely having about accepting praise from a criminal.

"Vell maybe you shoult have done your research better."

"I did everything I could! I had your friend create the digital trail. You told me he was the best."

"He ees."

"Well, apparently the Arrow's got someone better. It doesn't matter, though. It's all fine to go ahead as scheduled. They suspect my involvement but they can't prove anything. We won't have to worry about it for a while."

"Let us 'ope zat you are right. For your own goot as much as ours."

After a few minutes of silence, the Russian man bids Whicker goodbye and the sound of footsteps retreating signals the end of the conversation. True to what they hear, Whicker and the man appear on Oliver's screen within seconds. The two shake hands before the Russian gets in the car and drives off. Once again, Felicity loses the car on the traffic cameras fairly quickly.

"So was that real, or did they find the bug and stage that for our benefit?" Digg asks, the first to voice the question they're all thinking.

"That's a good question," Oliver replies, standing and moving away from the computers. He runs a hand through the little hair he has, trying not to lash out and kick something in his frustration.

"I have an ID on the Russian," Felicity calls out into the ensuing silence. It's taken the recognition software all of ten minutes to come up with a match. "Meet Aleksandr Konn, Russian mobster extraordinaire. He's been upper-level for at least six years, as far as I can tell. A little sloppy to be visiting Whicker so openly if you ask me, so it could definitely be a set-up, but I'd still say Konn's the one pulling the strings on the Russian end. He also confirmed that the computer expert Whicker picked up came from Russia, meaning he spent his time away in Russia for sure. It also narrows down the possible list of hackers, which makes me think they didn't pick up the bug."

"That's true," Oliver admits, halting in his restless pacing to lean against the table. "If it was a set-up they wouldn't have given away any information about the anonymous computer tech."

"So we're operating under the assumption that Whicker is covering for the Russians then? What about the woman Konn referenced?" Digg chimes in.

At this, Oliver passes a hand over his face, mentally exhausted trying to puzzle it all out. "I'm not sure where she fits. She could be the brains of the operation, or just the go-between."

"We _could_ let Lance figure that out," Digg hints.

Oliver sighs. "Let's just let him know about the shipping yard and see if he's willing to bring in a team to bust the underlings. Maybe one of them will talk and it will solve the problem."

That, at least, they can agree on. With the decision made, Felicity puts in a call to Lance while he and Digg start going over maps of the shipping yard and Whicker's compound. By the time she hangs up the phone with a reluctant agreement from Lance (after she threatened to come see him in person), they've decided to steer clear of the shipping yard altogether while the police are there. Instead, Oliver will go to Whicker's shortly after the ring is busted, once word will have spread to Whicker so he'll be in full panic mode.

"Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this?" Felicity's voice startles him into awareness. Looking around, he realizes Digg's gone.

Mutely, he shakes his head in response.

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Good to know I'm not the only one. It just feels like we're missing something and I hate that feeling!"

"Me too," he replies, sighing heavily. "You should get home. Get some rest."

"Ready when you are," she responds pointedly.

His lips twitch at the not-so-subtle hint that he also needs sleep, and he concedes the point. His hand falls to the small of her back automatically as he walks with her to the stairs, the only lingering reminder of the previous intimacy they've been able to mostly ignore. He watches as she drives off ahead of him, feeling the same strange knot of anxiety that is his constant companion whenever she's out of his sight these days.

Fifteen minutes later, as he's climbing the stairs to his bedroom, his phone vibrates. The knot is already loosening at her assurance of safety when the phone vibrates again, meaning someone is calling him, not texting as Felicity usually does. Frowning, he spies Felicity's name on the caller ID and immediately halts his progress up the stairs. She never calls him unless it's important. His stomach drops as he presses the button to answer. She only calls if something is wrong.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so I'll leave you with a nice little half-cliffhanger there, just because I'm feeling sadistic right now. That one really got away from me… I can't promise they'll all be this long, but I'll try to keep them on the longer side as much as possible! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Alright, hopefully I didn't leave you hanging in semi-suspense for too long! I posted it a couple of days early just because of the cliffhanger. Thank you guys for all your reviews and follows! Hopefully this isn't a letdown.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"Felicity. Is everything OK?" He asks, sure that his emotions are coming through too clearly in his words.

"Uh, I'm not sure," she responds, her voice shaky. "Oliver, someone left a note on my door."

"And?" He prompts a bit too sharply. He can't bring himself to feel bad about it right now though, not with the way she sounds. He's already heading back down the stairs.

"It, uh, it says I need to stop working for you. You know, the _other_ you."

He pretends it's this (not the suddenly overwhelming desire to see her with his own eyes) that cements his decision. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Oh, no, you don't have to- I checked and there's no one-" She stutters quickly.

He tries to contain his growl of frustration that she decided to actually go check her apartment out herself before calling. It won't do anyone any good if he starts in on the lecture he's already preparing. Not now, at least. Instead, he schools his voice into his best impression of careful indifference. "Felicity, I'm already out the door. Just- lock yourself inside and don't open the door for anyone else. And call Digg." His commands are short and he hangs up before she can respond.

The ride to her apartment takes far too long, even as he doubles the speed limit. As it is, he barely waits for the bike to stop before he's halfway across the street and entering her building, taking the stairs three at a time. When he finally knocks on her door, it seems to take forever for her to open it. He lets out a breath he wasn't aware of holding as he takes in the sight of her, perfectly safe, but he needs to get rid of the remaining adrenaline and insists on checking her apartment himself. He can tell she's irritated, but she indulges him nonetheless, stepping aside to let him in. He pacifies his sudden desire to touch her with a gentle hand on her shoulder as he passes by, allowing it to linger a bit longer than is strictly necessary. She's safe. She's standing right in front of him.

He completes the sweep of her apartment sooner than he wants to, the buzz of adrenaline now just a fine hum. At a loss for what to do next, he stops in the main room of her apartment and looks around. He's thoroughly unsurprised by the array of colours, from red couches to orange rugs, all complementing and balancing each other. It's very Felicity. Well, the Felicity she lets them see, not this strange, darker side of her that she's suddenly revealing. Engrossed as he is in studying his surroundings, it takes him a moment to realize she's standing in front of him, paper in hand. Wordlessly, she holds it out to him. The note is encased in an envelope with her name typed on the front, leaving no room to say it's a mistake. The actual note is also typed, with no indications of who sent it.

**You need to stop working for the Arrow. It's not safe.**

"I think this had to come from someone in Whicker's… employ. Whoever left it was able to either have someone mess with the security footage of my building, or do it themselves," she tells him, moving to sit on the couch.

"It could be unrelated," he suggests, knowing it's improbable even as he says the words. She shoots him a look that confirms it as he tilts his head, catching the implications of what she just said. "How do you know what the security footage picked up already?"

At this, she blushes lightly, looking off to the window to avoid his gaze. "I may have set up my own not-totally-legal access to the feed when I moved in."

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. The situation does not permit humour.

"Whoever hijacked the system did it well. That's what makes me think it's related to Whicker. It's on the same level as his Russian computer friend. He also left me a hint," she explains, pulling her laptop toward her and typing a few commands to pull up the video. Digg chooses this moment to arrive, thankfully, so there's no need to wait. It takes a few seconds and the passing on of the note to catch the other man up before she plays the footage. "Ok, so he's got it playing on a basic loop, but the what isn't important. It's the when."

"February 13th, 2013?" Digg reads, brow scrunched. "I don't get it. What's important about February 13th?"

"It's the date Felicity joined the team," Oliver answers automatically.

Felicity's head whips around to look at him in surprise. "You remember that?"

He shrugs. "I remember a lot of things."

She studies him for another minute before mimicking his shrug. "I guess getting shot by your own mother _is_ a pretty memorable event."

"So he's covering his tracks with footage from the day Oliver showed up bleeding in the back of your car. Why?" Digg frowns, trying to puzzle it all out.

"So that I know he's been watching me. He knows exactly when I started working for the Arrow, a phrase that, I must point out, I object to on principle. I'd like to think I'm more than just your employee," she says before blushing, "I didn't mean it like that. I meant like more along the line of partner than… oh God this is not getting any better."

Digg tries not to grin as he ducks his head briefly.

"_Anyways_. He knows when I joined the team, so either he's been watching me for that long, which is super creepy, or he's just that good. I mean, we're careful…ish." She stops, tilting her head while considering her words. "You know, we're not really that careful. But there's no way he could track it to that specific of a date without having been keeping tabs on me, which, I will say again, is super creepy."

Oliver's jaw tightens as he moves stiffly to the window and looks out at the city. The idea of someone watching Felicity like she's suggesting makes him far more anxious than he wants, but what she's saying makes sense.

"Why would he tip his hand like that though?" Digg is asking, sitting beside her on the couch to get a better look at the footage. "Contacting you alone is a huge risk to take, not to mention revealing that he knows such details about your life. Unless he thought you wouldn't pick up on it? His own little private joke?"

Oliver can sense her shaking her head in his peripheral vision as she answers. "No, he knew I'd make the connection. He wanted me to."

"Why?"

She sighs heavily, slouching back against the couch. "I wish I knew."

"Oliver?" Digg calls. He turns his head away from the window. "You've been quiet. Any ideas?"

"No," he admits, turning the rest of his body from the window as well. "We won't figure anything out tonight. Why don't you just head home?"

Digg nods, understanding the unspoken words but mostly containing the slightly disapproving expression on his face.

"Yeah we all need sleep," Felicity says before catching the specificity of his words and snapping her head to look at him. "Wait, you told _Digg_ to go home."

"Yes."

"Where exactly are _you_ going?" She asks with narrowed eyes.

"Nowhere," he answers simply, "I'm sleeping on your couch tonight."

"I- I'm sorry, what?" She splutters, eyes wide.

"I'll just let you two… sort this out," Diggle says, slipping quickly from the room with a parting, "Call me if anything else turns up."

"No," she snaps once Digg leaves. "Just no, Oliver. I don't need a babysitter. Go home so you don't feed your sister's delusions that you're sleeping with your secretary."

"I'm not here to _babysit_ you; I'm here to _protect_ you. Some guy broke into your building and left a note on your door. He _knows_ you work with the Arrow."

"And Oliver Queen suddenly sleeping on my couch isn't a dead giveaway of your connection to the whole thing at all," she retorts sarcastically.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take to make sure you're safe."

She fixes him with a look. "The note was on the outside of my door, Oliver. There's no indication he could even get in. Besides, if he wanted to hurt me, don't you think he would have by now? Instead he just left me some stupid, overbearing command like I'd actually listen to some weirdo I don't know."

"Or he could be playing with you," he points out, "You said it yourself. He left that footage on there for a reason. This is some kind of game for him. For all we know this threat could just be the start of it all."

"Threat?" She snorts. "I wouldn't really call this a threat. It was more of a hypocritical piece of advice."

"You often get advice taped to your door in strange, unmarked envelopes?" He snaps back, unable to control himself.

At his words, her shoulders slump forward and she drops her head into her hands. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just on emotional overdrive. I realize there's a reason I take a couple of weeks to go home now. I didn't realize how draining it would be, trying to deal with all the stupid stuff forcing its way to the surface and simultaneously trying to figure out Mystery #154. Then there's the she-devil."

He chuckles despite his anger. "You've been keeping track?"

"No…" She replies, her lips remaining puckered around the 'o' as she turns her head away in embarrassment, giving the word away for a lie. He continues to stare at her, one eyebrow raised, as she studiously avoids looking back at him. Finally, she caves. "Ok, it's not like I keep it all written down in a diary or journal or anything… I just remember the number. I remember a lot of things."

He shakes his head in disbelief, grinning as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes his way over to the bookshelf beside her television, stopping to study the volumes organized in neat, alphabetical rows. She seems to have a bit of everything, with a bit more selection of fiction than any other category.

"I used to read nothing but fiction books when I was younger," she says, and he turns to find her watching him. "But then I grew up and realized there was an entire world out there, waiting for me to use it as the backdrop for my own story. I wasn't doing myself or anyone else any good staying cooped up in my room reading about fictitious romances and adventures where everyone ends up as one big happy family. So I branched out a little, read some different things, made a few friends, and eventually I stopped relying on books so much."

He smiles as she blushes at her own admission. "I don't think I read _any_ books when I was younger. I was too busy drinking and getting into trouble with Tommy."

"So your bookshelves are purely decorative then?" She asks, grinning slightly.

"The ones in my room, yes," he answers, "The ones in the library, however, are full of very real books."

She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head. "Why am I not surprised? Of _course_ you have a library."

"Perks of being a billionaire," he replies, keeping the light tone of the conversation going, "Access to hundreds of books I will likely never read. I do like to sit in the library sometimes, though. It's quiet, and everyone is so used to the old me that they never think to look for me there."

"How… strategic of you." She pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before growing serious again. "But this isn't going to distract me from the matter at hand. I admit you have a point, but your solution to me being in quasi-danger cannot be to move in here and sleep on my couch. Not only is it a dead giveaway, it's also totally inappropriate."

"I thought we settled this," he sighs, "You are not in _quasi_-danger. Someone knows where you live and he knows you're involved with me. If it takes revealing myself to protect you, I'd do it in a heartbeat, Felicity," he says, his voice growing softer at the last sentence. He moves to stand across the coffee table from where she's sitting and pauses briefly before addressing her last statement. "And what exactly is inappropriate about a friend sleeping on another friend's couch when said friend is in danger?"

She looks away, and he can see a faint blush spreading its way across her cheeks as she gestures between them. "CEO? Secretary? How is that going to look? I mean, it will totally amp up the gossip in the office, which would be a good thing for the image I guess, but then I really couldn't deny it to the few friends I have who believed me because… well… I can't very well say you're sleeping on my couch because you're concerned for my safety after I was quasi-threatened by some creep behind a computer screen." She takes a deep breath as she finishes speaking, determinedly keeping her eyes focused on everything else in the room except for him. "And I have to point out that having Digg stay here would draw far less notice, because no one really cares about the blonde assistant and the black driver, so why not just ask him?"

He starts to answer before he catches himself and stops before he can utter a word. There is no good answer to that question. He can't tell her it's because, even though he trusts Digg to keep her safe, he doesn't think he can handle being half a city away if something happens. He needs to take care of this himself, so that he can be here when she needs him. Instead of saying any of that, he offers some vague explanation about Lyla and not wanting to get in the way of Digg's thus-far-successful relationship.

She scoffs. "Please. You know as well as I do that, as unfair to Lyla as it may be, Digg wouldn't say no and he wouldn't resent either one of us for it. We're a team. We have each other's backs. Just admit that it would be easier for him to stay here."

"Fine, it would be easier, but the easier route isn't always the one you should take. Besides, Digg lives closer to you than I do and can get here faster than I could."

"You got here before him tonight," she points out.

"True, but you called me first and I also broke about fifty different traffic laws on the way here. There's no guarantee I wouldn't run into problems in the future."

She makes an aggravated noise in the back of her throat before throwing her hands up in defeat. "Fine! I give up! You can sleep on my couch and play protector, but for _one_ night. One night, Oliver." He opens his mouth to argue but she holds up a warning finger. "_If_ he tries anything else, we'll revisit this discussion, alright?"

"Fine," he replies, sensing that continuing to insist would be pointless. For now, at least. She starts toward the bedroom at the back of the apartment before he calls out to stop her. He makes sure to inject every ounce of sincerity he can into the statement that follows her eyes snapping back to his, his voice softening with it. "Just so you know… _I_ care about the blonde assistant and the black driver."

* * *

He wakes later than usual in the morning, but still before Felicity. Reluctant as he is to leave her alone, especially after making such a big deal out of it last night, he decides that half an hour won't hurt and hesitates only briefly before picking up her apartment keys and making a short trip for coffee and her favourite pastries. Hopefully the sight of them will soften any lingering irritation she may have with him for imposing on her personal space.

When he returns, he can hear the shower running as he hangs her keys on their hook by the door and locks it behind him. It isn't long before she emerges from her room, fully dressed and eyeing him suspiciously.

"So you think you can just bully your way into sleeping on my couch and then bring me coffee to make it all better?" She asks with a raised eyebrow. He can see the teasing glint around the edges, though, and knows she isn't actually angry.

"No," he responds before holding up the bag. "That's why I brought these, too."

He watches her try to maintain her angry façade before failing miserably and allowing a smile to grace her lips before dropping into the seat across from him. "That's not fighting fair."

"I never do," he quips, grinning.

"I'm actually surprised you left me alone long enough to go get this," she remarks, raising the coffee cup to her lips briefly.

He stiffens at her offhand remark, wondering if there's anything lurking beneath it, waiting for another fight. "I won't apologize for being concerned about you."

She surprises him when she sighs and places her hand on his gently, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being really difficult, but I need you to know that I really do appreciate you putting your life on hold. I don't mean to give you such a hard time about it. I just…" She pauses, searching for the right words. "I haven't felt like this since… well, in a long time and I hate it. I hate feeling so helpless. I hate that you feel the need to sleep on my couch. I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden," he assures, turning his hand so he can lightly squeeze her fingers to punctuate his words. When he continues, he makes sure his voice is lighter, "Besides, friends look out for each other."

She raises an eyebrow at that. "You'd feel the need to sleep on Digg's couch if he were quasi-threatened by some mysterious hacker from Russia?"

He gives her a lopsided smile at that. "I don't know; that's a pretty specific situation."

She laughs, and he makes a split-second decision to allow them both half an hour to pretend the world outside doesn't exist. So, instead of asking her what she plans to do in terms of tracking the hacker or trying another angle at connecting Whicker to the trafficking ring, he finds himself enjoying the comfortable silence that envelopes them as they sip coffee. He feels normal in this moment in a way he didn't with Laurel in the restaurant. It feels real, sitting in Felicity's kitchen in the morning drinking coffee without the need for words to fill the space between them. As soon as the thought appears, though, he forces it away. It's too dangerous to start thinking like this. Just like that, the spell is broken and he stands abruptly, realizing as he does so that it requires him to pull his hand from hers. He hadn't noticed that neither of them had pulled away from the contact and, judging by the colour now spreading across her cheeks, neither had she.

* * *

Digg is already at the foundry when they get there, guns laid out on the table in front of him as he waits. He's set up a makeshift firing range behind the training mats. It takes Felicity all of three seconds to catch on and she sighs in resignation.

"Guns? Seriously?"

Oliver remains silent, deciding to let Digg handle this particular argument. It _was_ his idea, after all. The idea of Felicity with a gun, of her being in a situation where she needs to use it, affects him in ways he isn't ready to admit. When Digg brought it up, he told the other man that it was his call and that, if he could get her to agree, he could go for it. Oliver wants no part of watching her delve into their world of weapons. Learning to handle herself in a fight is one thing, but learning to shoot is quite another. Hand-to-hand is for defence, but her having a gun goes far beyond her line, something he's sure she is now explaining to Digg.

When he comes back, he's surprised to find she isn't arguing as vehemently as he expected. Instead, she has a reluctant expression on her face and a gun in her hand, testing the weight. He stops short when he takes in how familiar she looks with the simple act of holding one. Digg looks surprised, too.

Catching the confused glance they exchange, she sighs and starts taking the gun apart, piece by piece as she begins to explain. She manages to ignore the growing shock on their faces as she dismantles the weapon with ease. "Before he… left, my father taught me how to shoot. I was fifteen when he came into my room and said we were going out. It had been a while since he'd tried to take me on one of his usually ill-fated 'outdoor adventures' so I was surprised, to say the least," she tells them, concentrating on the gun instead of the two of them. When she finishes dismantling it, she checks the pieces and starts the reassembly. "He took me out to a cabin our family had in the woods about an hour from our house and brought out this crate of guns," she pauses to look up, "And when I say crate, I mean it was more like a trunk.

"But anyways, so he brings out these guns and tells me he's got to teach me to shoot so I can protect myself. I didn't understand, and I still don't, but he told me it was necessary and there was no arguing. So, I learned to shoot." She finishes her story with the punctuation of sliding the magazine home and heads for the target Diggle erected on the other end of the room, tossing the ear protectors Diggle brought out to each of them as she goes. Oliver fumbles a bit as he's caught off guard, managing to recover and avoid bringing any attention to himself as he struggles to keep up with what's happening.

She sets her stance with practiced ease, raising the weapon and firing five rounds at the target. He's sure Diggle is feeling just as off-balance as he is when they see that all five bullets hit the target, three dangerously close to the center. She stares at the holes momentarily before walking back and placing the gun on the table in front of her.

He watches curiously as she seems to come back to reality when the metal is no longer in contact with her skin, jerking her hand back to her side with an almost disgusted expression on her face. Again, he's struck by how starkly different the Felicity holding the gun was from the one currently stepping back from the table as though the firearms could spontaneously combust at any moment. She seemed colder, more calculating, with the metal in her hand, and now she just seems like his Felicity. He absolutely does _not_ linger on the fact that he just referred to her as 'his'.

"Yeah, so… I know how to shoot. I'm not as good as I used to be, but I know enough to handle myself, and I'd much rather be trying to find this Russian whack-a-doo and breaking up a human trafficking ring, so I'm just going to…" She trails off, indicating her computers before she makes a hasty retreat to the desk.

Oliver isn't sure what to make of the whole thing. Digg is almost grinning in disbelief, but he's still processing the sight of Felicity holding a gun. If there are two things in the world that he would never think to associate with one another, it would be Felicity and gun proficiency. She's been so against guns and violence from the start that he's pretty sure it will take him at least an hour to wrap his head around this new development. It reminds him a bit of himself when he was first stranded on the island. He was so opposed to killing that the mere thought of holding a weapon was repulsive. He learned quickly that he needed to revise his viewpoint given the circumstances, but the acceptance of the inevitable changed him. He can't bear the thought that Felicity could be corrupted in the same way he was; she's too good, too pure to be tainted by the violence that controls his life.

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he remembers their past conversation and his revelation that perhaps he's idealizing her too much. He needs to stop thinking of her in terms of the ideal he's placed on a pedestal and start seeing her for who she really is. Right now, she's seriously conflicted. He can sense it even as she sits at the computer, guns out of sight. He knows she's only dedicating half of her concentration to the task at hand, the other portion of her mind trying to erase what just happened. It's what he finds himself doing far too often when he's trying to compartmentalize a particularly troublesome moment and get back to the reality he'd rather be living in. He understands the inner struggle to shove it back down and recognizes the signs in the blonde as she sits stiffly in her chair, radiating tension that clearly is meant as a sign for them to keep their distance. She said her father was responsible for teaching her to shoot, so that likely explains why she's never mentioned it before. Forgetting her father would involve forgetting every unpleasant memory she has of him, and he's sure that this is definitely an unpleasant memory for her.

Pausing in his train of thought for a moment, he wonders when exactly he started viewing reality as something he actually wanted to live in. Reality has never been a pleasant place for him. It has been too often filled with pain and regret. There was a time when he gladly gave in to his desire to delude himself with the fantasy world he constructed on the island, where he came back to find everyone waiting with open arms and he slid into the life he'd dreamed up. When did he start thinking reality was a better place to be?

"I found his pre-Russia hacker!" Felicity announces about an hour later. She looks more relaxed than before, and he vaguely wonders again how she is so good at compartmentalizing. "Frank Binton was paid monthly via wire transfer, which was disguised a bit more cleverly than everything else he did for Whicker, but not well enough to escape my notice. I think he would be very receptive to a visit, don't you?"

Oliver can feel himself already pulling into Arrow-mode (another term coined by Felicity) as he nods, heading to change into his leathers. He remembers talking about it once, the way he becomes an entirely different person when he puts on the hood. She actually shivered when she told him that it was like he lost all emotion and humanity. Catching a glance of his reflection in the mirror, something he tries not to do, he realizes she's right. His eyes are a dark and empty reflection staring back at him, his jaw squared and his lips pressed thin. Unbidden, an image of Felicity's own facial expression as she was holding the gun flashes in his memory. He sees the same cold eyes and squared jaw of his own reflection, feeling a dull ache spread through his chest at the similarities. She isn't that person, and she doesn't deserve to be made into her, especially not at the hands of her own father.

* * *

Binton doesn't know much of anything that could be useful. He reiterates that Whicker was indeed in Russia after the Undertaking and that when he came back he fired Binton, telling him that he'd found a better option.

"What did he have you do for him?" Oliver growls, arrow pulled taught on the bowstring and aimed at Binton's heart.

Binton is shaking like a leaf, but manages a breathy answer. "M-Mostly financial doctoring, to h-hide embezzlements and t-tax fraud."

"What else."

"I- I-" Binton pauses, looking around wildly but finding no other option than to keep talking. "He had me hide transactions."

"Like what."

"I- I don't know. L-like on trips to Russia and nights at hotels in Starling. He, uh, he went to Russia on business at least once every couple of months, and there was always some back room dealing he needed me to cover up. The hotel visits were about once every two weeks. Always a d-different venue, b-but he was adamant about the payments being routed through an offshore account I set up for him."

Learning nothing else of value, Oliver finally relents and heads back to the foundry to see if Felicity's managed to uncover anything based on Binton's limited information. It's still early, so hopefully she'll find something before they leave tonight.

He doesn't even need to ask before she's spouting off more progress than he expected. "So based on what Binton said, I went back and checked Whicker's financials for anything with signs of tampering similar to his credit card activity after the Undertaking. I hit gold. Whicker went to Russia quite a bit, and Binton wasn't quite good enough to bury the more sinister transactions Whicker made. A lot of the payments Binton tried to erase were made to a club owned by Konn. It seems to be his headquarters, so I'm assuming this was Whicker 'romancing' him, which is why there was no evidence of Big Whicker's connection to Little Whicker's contacts on the surface. He was at least smart enough to hide it, but he probably shouldn't have relied so heavily on a mediocre computer tech to do it. He could have at least used cash, but then again billionaires never seem to understand that money is an actual, tangible thing, not just a plastic card." She pauses, her words catching up with her. "No offence."

"None taken," he assures her, his lips twitching upward despite the rather serious situation.

"So I've also been looking into Konn to see if I can find his Russian friend who seems so interested in me. No real luck so far, but I expected that. The guy is good, so he wouldn't be likely to leave a trail, digital or paper, that connects him to Konn. I'm comparing Konn's financials to Whicker's to see if I can find a pattern. What I _can_ tell you is that some of my… online acquaintances… have gotten back to me.

"Usually hackers will leave some sort of signature behind when they pull off a job, you know, to let other hackers know it was them. There's this one guy, though, who they say doesn't do that. Instead, he leaves behind little personal taunts. He mainly operated independently, but was known to do work for Konn, and used personal information as a kind of insurance policy or a way to manipulate people instead of leaving a signature. He emptied some Russian politician's bank account a couple of years back and left behind the name of his mistress as insurance that he wouldn't pursue the matter. Apparently after the name came up, he hired a freelance computer specialist to look into it, and when she started digging, a video of him and his mistress popped up. He stopped digging, but it seems to be the kind of thing my stalker would do, doesn't it?"

He clenches his jaw as she calls the guy her stalker, trying to control the blinding anger the term brings with it. "It does. Any leads on who this mystery guy is?"

She continues typing as she talks. "Here's the interesting thing: the guy was by all accounts completely anonymous. No one ever encountered him at any of the usual hacker hangouts in Russia, but people were definitely aware of his presence. Apparently he's like some kind of god over there he's that good, but he came out of the woodwork so sporadically that I guess he's kind of more like Big Foot or something. They call him the Ghost. Anyways… not the point. The point is that he's been silent for longer than he normally is, according to my, er, contacts."

"So you think he's been silent because he's working for Whicker?" Digg chimes in from where he stands at the table.

"I do," Felicity confirms, spinning around to face them. "I think Konn recommended this Ghost to Whicker as a way to cover their tracks and he's been exclusive to Whicker ever since. As to why he threatened me, it could have something to do with the fact that I caught on to what they were doing. Konn sounded really unhappy that Whicker's false trail was discovered so quickly."

"I don't think it's that simple, Felicity," Oliver disagrees. As much as it pains him, he knows that nothing about this is simple. "He didn't need to leave that footage behind, but he did. He wants you to know he's watching you, and I don't think it's just because you caught on to him."

"It doesn't sound like he gets bested often," Digg offers, "Maybe he's challenging you?"

Felicity hums thoughtfully as she considers the idea. "It's possible. Maybe he's just trying to recover the hit his ego probably took. I mean, he's really good, and him leaving that note and the footage is basically just him reaffirming that. He's telling me that he's been watching me. He knows way more about me than I do about him, and that could be his way of reminding me of that and making sure I know I'm out of my depth. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't realize that it just makes me want to find him that much more."

Oliver feels his lips tug upward in a small smile at her determination before turning to head to the training mats.

"What are you doing?" Her voice trails after him. He looks back at her questioningly and she gives him her 'isn't it obvious?' face before filling in the blank. "Family dinner?"

He lets out an aggravated noise as he lets his head fall back. He'd forgotten.

* * *

Oliver tries not to look at his phone as often as he'd like while Thea fills them in on a new promotion she's thinking of introducing at Verdant. He's anxious, and he's sure his mother and sister can tell but are trying to pretend they can't. So far, dinner has been stretching on far longer than he'd like. Usually, family dinners are a relatively relaxing occurrence for him, but with the current mystery he can't concentrate on much of anything being said. He not only wants to prove Whicker's involvement in the trafficking ring, but also get to the bottom of this mysterious Russian computer whiz threatening his own, and for the life of him, he doesn't understand how it all connects. There's a blank spot in the form of this woman that gnaws at him, and he can't help but wonder if she's the key to sorting it all out, or if finding her will only spark more questions. At least Binton helped put together some solid proof of Whicker's under-the-table dealings in Russia, and they can use it to confront him, but it isn't enough to break the entire thing open. They can link Konn and Whicker, but they don't have the full picture.

"Ollie?" Thea's voice permeates his concentration, bringing his attention back from where his eyes were glued to his phone under the table.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He asks, trying to brush it off.

His mother fixes him with a look. "I thought we agreed no business during dinner, dear."

He gives her a tight, apologetic smile and reluctantly tucks the phone away in his pocket. "Sorry, Mom. I'm just… expecting a very important call."

Thea, however, isn't as pacified. "Important, huh? Sure it's business?"

Not this again. It's all he can do not to strangle her from across the table. "Yes, Thea. I'm expecting confirmation of an investor signing on."

"It's kind of late to be hearing about investors, don't you think?" She prods, a grin stretching across her face. "Sure it's not someone else?"

"The business day never truly ends, Thea."

His mother nods her agreement. "That, I can confirm. How are things going at the office, Oliver?"

Thankful for the diversion, he launches into a brief overview of the happenings at QC. All in all, things are going well for the company, if you don't count Isabel Rochev still breathing down his neck. It's making a rather nice comeback, especially considering the state it was in when Isabel first appeared on the scene. Despite what the investors say about him, he knows they can't fault the company's rebound performance, though most of them likely attribute that to Isabel's influence.

He tries not to feel guilty at the look of pride in his mother's eyes as he describes the steps he's taking to expand the Applied Sciences division. She thinks he's doing this out of desire and family loyalty, but she couldn't be more wrong. He feels a degree of family loyalty, yes, but he has absolutely no desire to be behind the CEO's desk at Queen Consolidated. He's only there because Felicity and Digg came to get him from Lian Yu and forced him to see reason. It doesn't stop him from feeling like a fraud sitting there, pretending to care while accountants and financial advisors drone on about the next best investment. He doesn't like the CEO's chair and all of the pressure and comparisons that come with it. If he could have convinced Walter to stay on, he'd be back to managing Verdant in a heartbeat. At least there weren't any expectations to follow him around there. As abhorrent as being the playboy is, it's a role he remembers and fits into well.

Of course, if he's being completely honest, he'd say he feels most like himself when he's in Verdant's basement, not the main floor. Once the door closes to separate him from the curious, prying eyes, he can let go of all pretense and just be himself with Felicity and Diggle. They have no preconceived notions of who he should be or any expectations. Well, that's not entirely true, but their expectations make him better. If this morning is anything to go by, that ability to drop the acts around them has extended beyond the basement now, too. It worries him to think that he felt more relaxed in Felicity's apartment this morning than he does right now in his own home, but he's sure that's partially to do with the green, leather-clad secret he's keeping from his mother and sister. If they knew, he's sure it would be different. Not the same as this morning, but still better than right now.

"What's with the faraway look in your eye?" Thea asks, the same tone to her voice as earlier.

With an effort, he pulls himself away from the peaceful memory of this morning and focuses on his sister. "Just thinking."

His phone doesn't ring all through the rest of the meal, and he dedicates his effort to remaining engaged in the conversation while dodging Thea's attempts to lure out the topic of Felicity. If there's one thing she's not, it's subtle.

It isn't until later that night, when he's parked in the shadows of the alley across from Felicity's building to check up on her that his phone vibrates. Irritated, he pulls it out, only to chuckle to himself as he dismounts from the bike.

**You know, if you're going to lurk in the alley all night you may as well just come up.**

* * *

**A/N: Ok, I think that's a good place to leave it. Yes, this promises more Oliver/Felicity interaction in the next chapter. Him staying at her place won't become a thing they do from here on out, though it may make a couple of reappearances later on. I know that happens in a lot of stories, but in the interests of doing things a bit differently, I really only intended it to be a one night thing, and then the idea of her texting him from her apartment came to me and I couldn't help it. Also, I have no idea what date Felicity actually joined the team, so I just used the date the original episode aired. Anyways, once again I shamelessly ask you to review and let me know what you think! Reviews motivate me to write faster... hint hint. (yes, I really am THAT shameless)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ok, so here's the update! I'm sorry it's later than usual, but 2.14 left me rather angry with the show so I had to take a little break from writing just to rally and collect myself. Anyways, I think I'm getting back on track once more, so hopefully this doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

He can tell she's trying to school her face into annoyance as she opens the door, but amusement hints at the edges. "For a guy who prides himself on stealth, your stalking could use some improvement."

"I'll try to remember that." His lips lift in a small grin as he steps inside. Noting the black metal in her hand as she closes and locks the door behind him, he shoots her a raised eyebrow.

"Rental from Digg," she explains, taking it with her to the couch and setting it on the coffee table. "I have to get the one my father gave me out of storage tomorrow, but he wouldn't leave without knowing I had one."

She's staring at the television instead of him as he takes the seat beside her. Oliver nods, considering whether he should ask why she kept the gun despite her obvious dislike of her father, but she takes the decision away from him as she elaborates. "I got rid of most of the guns after… everything, so Mom wouldn't find them. She knew he liked to punch things, but she didn't know about the trunk. I didn't want to ruin her memory of him even more by having her find out we were keeping secrets. I kept the one he gave me when I got accepted to MIT, though. It didn't feel right to sell it, even if I couldn't bear to look at it, so I keep it in secure storage and try not to think about it. At least he'd be happy it's finally getting put to use."

He doesn't know what to say to that, a loss for words that's all too familiar these days. Instead, he steers the conversation to more stable waters. "Did you find anything else?"

"Not unless you consider a lot of hotel room rentals something. I don't know why Binton covered those up, but they were some expensive bills. Whoever he's romancing is getting the five star treatment and beyond," she answers, bringing a shift in demeanor with the shift in conversation.

"Is?"

She nods, sitting back against the couch. "It's still happening. I guess his new computer tech either doesn't know he's using the same account for the transactions, or he doesn't care. I'm betting on the latter, because it is _not_ the computer tech's job to keep track of your dates."

He's about to comment when she suddenly lurches for the remote and turns up the volume.

"…the news has shocked many in the business community, who were expecting great things from Ritter Limited. Projections had the company slated to take off in the next few years, meaning news of its collapse has left many an investor confused and angry," the reporter is saying, "There has been no comment from the company on what caused the unexpected disaster."

As the reporter starts in on identifying herself before throwing it back to the main anchor, Felicity presses the 'mute' button and drops back to her previous position. She looks surprised, and he can't say he feels any differently.

"I thought you said-" He starts, only to be cut off.

"I did… They were doing well. This makes no sense…" She trails off, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "It makes no sense… That's it!" She sits upright with the force of whatever revelation has come to light and he automatically moves back to avoid whatever wayward limb will surely be flying in his direction as she gets herself amped up. "It makes no sense!"

"Yes… So you've said…"

"No, don't you get it? Sudden collapse? It's just like the others! I'd bet you anything that, if I were to look into it, I'd find out their database was corrupted and destroyed, sending the company into turmoil and their stock prices plummeting!" She claps her hands exuberantly and he tries not to feel the warmth growing in his chest at the sight of her. Where she was forlorn and withdrawn a minute ago, now she's full of life and excitement, but he can't linger on that feeling. He needs to remind himself, and her, where their priorities lie.

"I'm sure it would…" He begins carefully.

"But not until after the Whicker thing is sorted out, I know," she finishes, "But Whicker did meet with the CEO, remember? So I can at least check into how much Whicker lost because of this. It's bound to make him more desperate to move the side business along if he just lost whatever money he put into Ritter Limited."

He concedes the point as viable, watching as she pulls her tablet towards her and starts typing on the attached keyboard. Recognizing the look on her face as completely focused on the task at hand, he takes the opportunity to glance around her apartment once more. She doesn't even notice as he rises and starts to wander, taking in everything his eyes missed last night. He turns back to check on her before stepping into the kitchen as he sees her still in the same position. The room isn't exactly what he expects. There are spices lining the walls and shiny silver appliances lined neatly on the counters. It reminds him a bit of the kitchen in his house, but it's still warm enough to feel like a home. The kitchen in the mansion is designed for professional use, and as such has a detached sort of feeling to it. He finds that he likes the little plaques with silly sayings hung on the walls and the colorful spatulas in the utensil container. They give the kitchen a homey feeling that his own misses.

"My mom and I used to cook together when I was younger."

He jumps at the sound of her voice, turning to see her leaning against the counter. It's rare that anyone can sneak up on him. "Sorry, I- You were-"

She half-shrugs. "It's fine. I kind of left you to fend for yourself."

"I like your kitchen," he comments, leaning against the opposite counter and running his hand along the surface idly.

"Thanks. I don't get much of a chance to use it anymore, what with our night job and all, but I like to cook. I like to experiment," she responds, before her eyes widen slightly at the inadvertent innuendo. He waits to see if she'll acknowledge it but she concentrates on maintaining a straight face instead.

"Most times successfully," he teases. Seeing the amused glint in her eyes brings a genuine smile to his face and he finds himself wishing they could do this more. The ease he feels standing in her kitchen is strange but addictive.

"Just for that, you don't get any Enchilada Casserole tomorrow," she threatens, pointing a finger at him.

"If it's anything like the soup you made last week…" He trails off at the look on her face and chuckles. "I'm kidding."

She considers him for a moment, head tilted to the side. "You are." Her voice is filled with awe. "Oliver Queen has a sense of humour… Who knew?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You always say I'm too serious."

"Oh I'm not complaining," she hurriedly assures, waving her hands in front of her. She studies him for a moment longer before smiling softly. "You should smile more often. I mean, _really_ smile. You have a nice smile."

Warmth bubbles up in his chest at her words and he finds himself unable to push it back down. A grin breaks out on his face again as he shakes his head, dipping his neck to look at the floor. The silence that stretches between them isn't exactly awkward, but he can sense Felicity's growing nerves and embarrassment as what she said catches up with her. He raises his eyes to meet hers, the smile still lingering on his lips as he tells her he'll try.

* * *

"Whicker was in for a lot with Ritter," Felicity tells them later that night while they wait none too patiently for Lance to give them the go-ahead. "Double the investment he's made in any other company. I'd say he's one stressed out human trafficker right about now. I mean, the Arrow's on to his side business and paid him a threatening visit not too long ago, and now he's lost a very large sum of money to something I'm still not convinced was an accident, so yeah. I'd say tonight is a perfect time to break him. With his financial ties to Konn's club, he can't say we have no proof anymore. It may not be the kind of proof that gets him put away for a long time, but it's enough to cast doubt and launch a proper investigation."

"She's right," Digg concurs as he leans against the desk beside her chair, "Man's probably hitting the bottle pretty hard right now, and when he finds out the ring got busted up by the cops tonight… He's gonna be a basket case. He could just confess and save the cops and lawyers all the trouble."

Oliver gets his quiver out to make sure he has adequate supplies. "Good."

"Anything to make the Lances' jobs easier," Felicity chimes in, but he barely hears her. He's already slipping into his Arrow persona. He vaguely registers her and Digg trading comments but he pays them no mind. He has a job to do.

* * *

Whicker is definitely drunk. The man is staring listlessly at the fireplace when Oliver steals into the room, and doesn't bat an eye when he recognizes his presence.

"I knew you'd come," the man slurs in that same resigned tone he hears from suspects about to cave. The rug underneath the chair he sits in is different, and Oliver represses the urge to comment on the lack of burn marks in the new one.

"You're finished."

Whicker heaves a sigh. "So it would seem. I should have known better. Getting involved in this was a bad idea from the start."

"Getting involved in what."

"This," Whicker elaborates, waving his hand vaguely around the room. The amber liquid in his glass sloshes dangerously close to rim, but he doesn't notice. Oliver, however, notices everything, even taking in the sight of bits of plastic strewn about the floor that appear to be the remains of a cell phone. "All of it. I knew it was a bad idea, but I still… I let myself believe it was a good one. I should have stayed the hell away."

"Why didn't you."

Whicker looks up at him then, his eyes dull and emotionless. "You've never let yourself get talked into something? Never believed that it would work out the way it was supposed to, even though every instinct you have is telling you to run for the hills? You've never fallen victim to a silver tongue and a pretty face?"

Oliver frowns at this. He's expecting a confession of guilt, but this sounds more like an admission of participation.

"You have, haven't you?" Whicker asks, almost laughing in some form of convoluted relief. "Let me guess, Binton sold me out, and you brought me the proof you had that computer expert of yours dig up for you?"

He stiffens at the mention of Felicity. "I don't have anyone to help me."

At this, the other man snorts, flapping his hand dismissively. Some of the liquid spills out of the glass this time and drips onto the carpet. He'll probably need a new rug again. "Please. I know you've got someone. Whoever he is, he's good."

A small sigh of relief almost escapes Oliver's lips. Whicker obviously doesn't know who Felicity is, but he tucks that particular revelation away for later examination, wanting to know why the man's computer expert didn't share her identity with his employer.

"You know the worst part of all this?" Whicker asks. "I actually believed her when she said she'd pro-"

The man's words are cut off by the sound of shattering glass and a spray of blood. Oliver's head jerks around, looking for the source of the bullet that just buried itself in the side of Whicker's head, but all he sees is faint movement from the window behind him. Cursing himself for letting his guard down, he makes for that area of the wall at a sprint, Felicity trying to figure out what's going on as he does so.

"The cameras you placed picked up some movement a few seconds ago but not much more than that," Felicity tells him.

Using the information, he heads for the front of the compound. He's fast, but not fast enough. All he sees as he gets to the street is a bike speeding off into the distance. He tries not to curse aloud but fails as he realizes that he has no idea what just happened or why.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" He snaps as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't know, man. Lance's takedown went off without a hitch. Konn wasn't expecting a thing. I let him make the call to Whicker before subtly pointing Lance in his direction," Digg replies. He'd gone to the shipping yard to make sure no one escaped the bust, so at least one part of tonight went as planned.

Felicity sits silently, a frown etched on her face. She looks as frustrated as he feels as her fingers move across the keyboard at lightning speed. Deciding to give her some space, he heads over to the cabinet to put his weapons away and then to change. Interrupting her doesn't seem like a viable option right now with all the stress she's been under. It's getting better, but she's still clearly bothered by everything happening right now and he doesn't want to make that worse by forcing his terrible mood on her any more than proximity demands.

Two minutes after he emerges, the sound of her typing freezes abruptly. He and Digg both look over to see her staring, wide-eyed, at the computer screen.

"It was the Russian hacker," she says flatly.

"How?" Digg demands, moving to stand beside her. Oliver moves to take the place behind her chair, bracing his hands on the back.

"Whoever shot Whicker isn't even on the footage. It was replaced with a loop from the night we planted the cameras at Whicker's."

"From- wait, what? How could he possibly know that?"

Felicity shrugs helplessly, falling back against his knuckles with a loud exhale. Without thinking about it, he moves his hands to cover her shoulders instead, squeezing lightly in reassurance. She stiffens in surprise at first, but relaxes under his palms as his thumbs swipe across the fabric of her cardigan. She sighs. "I don't understand how this guy knows so much about us, or why he's covering for whoever killed Whicker, or why he needed to be killed in the first place."

"He said something…" Oliver trails off, trying to piece it back together. His hands slide off her shoulders and he starts to pace. "He said something about being fooled into this. It sounded like this woman we know nothing about talked him into getting involved and he was regretting it. He started to say something about what she promised. It sounded like she told him she'd protect him but she was setting him up."

"So how do we find this woman?" Digg asks, turning to lean against Felicity's desk.

"Another question we have no answer to." Sighing in frustration, Oliver drops his head back and scrubs his hands over his face. "I'm sick of feeling one step behind on this."

"You're not the only one." He looks down as his phone beeps. "That's Lyla… You guys good if I…?"

Oliver nods curtly while Felicity bobs her head.

"I'll let you know if we get anything more, but it doesn't look like much will crop up. I've got some searches running for known female associates of Whicker and I called Lance to let him know what happened on our end," Felicity says, "He said he'll let us know if they find anything, but I'm guessing they'll have about as much luck as we're currently having."

Digg inclines his head toward her in thanks and grabs his coat.

"We'll start fresh in the morning," Felicity tells him, her voice full of a conviction he doesn't feel, "I'll spend all day going over Whicker's life with a fine tooth comb if that's what it takes. We're going to find this woman and we're going to figure out what her role is in all of this, and we'll take her down."

His lips lift in a feeble attempt at a smile. "Always the optimist."

"Yes, I am. I learned a while back that seeing the good in every situation is the only way you can keep putting one foot in front of the other."

He knows she's referring to her father, but chooses not to bring it up. He isn't sure she can handle the extra emotional stress that would come with him prying into the past she desperately tries to repress tonight. As much as he wants to know, there's a time and a place for it, neither of which is here and now. Instead, they remain in silence while she finishes up the searches she wants the system to run overnight and he double-checks his bow is stored away properly for something to do. When he turns to face her, she's turned in her chair and staring at him while her teeth gnaw at her lip.

"So… Digg told me… About Laurel…" She says haltingly. He can feel the nerves radiating off her, unsure if she's crossing the line. "I- uh… Sorry. For bringing her up earlier. I didn't know."

"It's fine."

She seems satisfied for all of three seconds before she turns back to him. "How- uh… How do you feel about it?" She pauses briefly before rushing on as he's considering his words, obviously thinking she's offended him in some way. "I mean, it's just that she's Laurel, you know, _The_ Laurel. You've spent years pining after her and trying to get her to forgive you and see you as a better man and now she's just… leaving. That's got to make you feel _something_, right? Not that you don't feel. It's just that you don't express emotion very often. You compartmentalize and you've been ever so helpfully been pointing out to me that that's not exactly healthy so I just wondered if you… you know… wanted to… share… anything… about that…"

His lips twitch in amusement as her face burns red and she looks away. He takes another minute to consider his thoughts before speaking, causing her to jump. "I feel… better than I thought I would."

She nods, obviously not expecting anything else, let alone what she got, but he finds himself compelled to say more as he leans back against the table across from her. This is a dangerous habit, but he's too far in to stop now.

"There's such a thing as too much history. Laurel was my symbol of redemption on the island. She was the reason I needed to survive, because I needed her to forgive me for being less than a quarter of the man she deserved. I wanted to be a better man than my father, and to do that I needed to be the kind of man who deserved a woman like Laurel. It was naïve to think she'd be able to forgive me for what I did, but I needed hope and her picture was the only physical representation I had of it."

He thinks that's the end of it, and so does she, judging by the way she's wracking her brain for something to say. But saying the words felt… cathartic, and he feels like he can tell Felicity what's on his mind without fear of judgement. Without fully thinking it through, he keeps going, feeling the weight of Laurel lift off his chest with each word.

"When I came back, I started to realize how wrong I'd been to hope she'd allow me to try and make amends, but she was the only way I knew how to become a better man so I kept trying." He keeps his eyes trained on her. She's sitting very still in her chair, almost as though she's afraid that moving will scare him off. "Somewhere along the line, though, I stopped tying my progress to how accepting she was of me. When she told me she was leaving, I guess I realized that I don't need her to feel like a better person, and haven't for a while. Too much has happened between us for it to ever work like I once wanted it to, but I'm starting to think that's a good thing. Laurel's my past, and holding on to her only keeps me in limbo. I need to start enjoying my present, and she needs to start enjoying hers. So, yes, I'm feeling a lot better about her move than I thought I would."

Felicity blinks in surprise and he shifts uncomfortably. He's not used to sharing so much of himself and isn't sure how she's going to respond. When she finally manages to form a sentence, he feels the insecurity start to unwind. "Good. You deserve to be happy in the here and now, Oliver, regardless of what you may think about the so-called benefits of being a lone-wolf-martyr-type."

Not for the first time, he wonders why she is so adamant in her belief that he deserves a normal life. He's a murderer, and she knows it. How can she possibly justify his finding happiness, knowing what she does about him?

She reads the question on his face as usual. "Don't try to say otherwise," she commands, rising and making her way to stand in front of him. "You deserve it just as much as anyone else, and you can't say you don't because of all of this." She gestures around the foundry before reaching out and squeezing his hand. "You're doing this because you're already a better man than you were before the island. That man may not have deserved it, but this man does."

When she says it, he can believe it. He can feel the desire to have everything she says he deserves and more as he looks down into her open, earnest gaze, but the startling realization is that he seems to already know who he wants it with. With that knowledge comes an awareness of how warm and strong her hand is in his, her thumb swiping over his knuckles gently, so sure he's worthy of everything she's saying. He has the sudden compulsion to touch her and reaches out automatically to brush a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. It's not enough, though, and he feels an overwhelming desire to close the distance between them and capture her lips with his. Almost as though she senses the shift in his thoughts, her breath catches slightly. It's the smallest stutter, but he still hears it, and that's when the doubt returns full force. She can't be telling the truth. There's no possible way he could deserve something like what she's referring to. He's done terrible things, and he'd only put her in further danger if he were to attempt what she's suggesting. Granted, he's sure she doesn't know exactly what's going through his mind right now, so she doesn't realize that his brain has already automatically chosen the subject of any experiment he may undertake at her encouragement.

So, Oliver does what he does best, and pulls away, closing himself off from her. He can't afford the risk. Felicity means everything to him, and he's just now realized exactly how deeply that runs. It certainly explains the tightness in his chest when she mentions Connor, and the looks he catches Digg giving him lately. He won't allow himself the chance to ruin her like he's ruined so many others, because he's sure he will. It's inevitable, and he can't do that to her. After what she's told him about her father, he wouldn't be able to bear it if he were to add to that wound. She loved the man and he'd abused it to the point of no return. She's managed to semi-recover from it (and by that he means she's found a way to cope, much like he has) but he won't put her through any more of it. He won't be the reason she breaks.

He clears his throat, glancing in her general direction. "We should head out. It's late."

She swallows, coming back to reality and nodding quickly. "Yeah, we should."

She stops when they get to her car and turns to reach up and ghost the back of her knuckles across his cheek. He's been careful to control the habit of placing his hand on her back that seems to have developed, but the brush of her fingers negates the effort he's expended. She smiles softly and, if he's not mistaken, a little sadly as she looks up at him. "You may not believe me now, but you will. You deserve better than you let yourself believe."

He wonders what she'd say if he told her everything that's whirling through his mind right now, allowing himself to imagine what could happen if this wasn't his life. But it _is_ his life, and he refuses to make it hers so completely. She told him she won't let the mission interfere with her life any more than it already has, and taking the step he so desperately wants to would do just that. She deserves the chance to have a life outside of him and the lies he's forced upon her. In true Oliver Queen fashion, then, he says nothing, instead reaching around to open her car door for her stoically. She slides behind the wheel and he closes it softly behind her. As he watches her drive off, he represses the urge to follow her home, telling himself that the extra security he hired for her apartment building will be enough. He needs space as much as she wants him to give it to her, so he'll trust her belief that any desire to hurt her would already have been carried through if it were serious.

* * *

He heads straight for his bedroom when he returns to the mansion, not in the mood to see anyone. About halfway there, though, he changes his mind when his brain won't shut off. Maybe a distraction would be good. He redirects for Thea's room instead, pausing outside to ensure he won't be unpleasantly surprised by Roy's presence before he knocks. At her permission, he turns the knob and takes a step into the room. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, a magazine open in front of her.

"You're home," she says, the surprise evident in her voice.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asks, frowning.

She shoots him a look. "You haven't been the past couple of nights, Ollie. I wasn't really expecting to see you."

Understanding dawns and he remembers Felicity's words about not feeding his sister's delusions when he announced he was staying over. "It's not-"

Thea waves her hand. "I don't want to hear your lackluster excuses. Whatever you decide to do with your secretary is your business."

He raises an eyebrow at her. It's not like Thea to give up so easily. She's always poking her nose in where it doesn't belong.

"I still expect an introduction at some point," she tells him casually, shattering the reprieve she's given him. This conversation is not at all the distraction he needs. It's only pushing his thoughts further down the road he wants to avoid. "You know, one in which she's not your secretary."

Desperate, he changes the topic abruptly. "How's Roy?"

Thea looks at him in surprise. "Wow, you _really_ don't want to talk about her, do you?"

"No. Why are you so hung up on the idea of this, Thea? I told you it's not like that." He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at her earnestly.

She shrugs. "I guess I just like seeing you happy and it seems like you started getting that way when you met Felicity. It's like you're afraid to let anyone in because you're afraid of what will happen when they see you, but you seem to be opening up to her, even if you can't do it with me or Mom. Can you blame me for wanting that to translate into something a little more… well, _more_? You deserve to be happy and to try to move on from what happened to you, and it seems like she's helping you do that."

"She is," he answers truthfully, ignoring the way his sister's words mirror Felicity's. Whether she tries to or not, she _is_ helping him move on. "Like I said, she's important to me, but not in the way you seem set on thinking."

"Yeah… You keep telling yourself that, big brother," she snorts, flipping a page in her magazine. "And Roy's great, thanks for asking. Oh, and Walter called while you were… out. He wants you to call him back tomorrow."

"I'll do that," he responds, then remembers her earlier statement. He pauses on his way out, turning back to look at her again. "Wait. How did you know her name?"

Thea shrugs, eyes too wide with innocence. "It was on her name plate when I came by for lunch."

He almost buys it, but then his eyes narrow. "She doesn't have a name plate."

She threw it out, in fact, as a protest when he promoted her. She told him that she in no way wanted her name associated with the position because it was an insult to the thousands of dollars she spent getting the degree she was no longer using. He and Digg found it rather amusing after the fact, but she was terrifying at the time.

At this, Thea shrugs, completely unabashed. "Ok, so I looked into her. Asked around. You check out my boyfriends; I'd be a terrible sister if I didn't return the favour."

* * *

Two minutes into the call with Walter the next morning, Oliver asks Felicity into his office. They need a rundown on the securities surrounding the company's databases to ensure they aren't at risk, and it seems inefficient to have to ask her later. It's much too early for his brain to be functioning on full capacity where business is concerned, much less remember all of the tech-talk that's sure to be involved in this conversation. As much as he wants space, he can't deny the advantage of having her in the room. Walter seems to agree with Felicity that these aren't isolated attacks and, as such, got in touch with him to make sure they're protected from a similar attack. The company is in enough flux that they could become a target.

"If they try it, they'll be disappointed," Felicity says, snorting, "The only way to access QC's databases is internally. You need an executive code to be able to do the kind of damage to it that would cause it to self-destruct. The only people authorized are me, the head of IT, Oliver, and the second coming of Stalin."

He tries not to chuckle at the image that conjures. He needs to stay professional. "You get access?"

"I _did_ design it," she points out.

Walter's chuckle comes through the speakerphone. "She has a point, there. Felicity's the one with the most intimate knowledge of the system. It makes sense to give her access to it."

"Thank you, Mr. Steele. At least _someone_ acknowledges my true talents in this office."

"I promoted you," Oliver points out.

"To your secretary."

Walter laughs again. "It's good to see you found someone who can stand toe-to-toe with you, Oliver. The sign of a good assistant is one who isn't afraid to call their employer on his nonsense. And, Felicity, the sign of a good friend is one who can make sacrifices in the name of friendship. It doesn't mean you have to let him forget about it, though."

Felicity smiles fondly at the phone. "I'll be sure to remember that, Mr. Steele."

"Walter, please."

They exchange a few more pleasantries before ending the call. As soon as Walter's presence is no longer between them, the strange tension from the night before starts to seep into the room. He knows he's being unfair, suddenly pulling away like this, but the way she's looking at him makes him think she understands. It's making him a bit uncomfortable, to be honest, the way she's regarding him so shrewdly.

She's the one to break the silence. "Your schedule is clear until eleven. I'm heading out for lunch at noon but I'll be back by one for the PR meeting."

He can't think of anything to say, and merely nods once in response. As she retreats to her desk, he tries not to allow the guilt to consume him. No matter how much she may understand, it doesn't mean she isn't still hurt by his abrupt emotional retreat. In return, her walls have rocketed back up to match his own, leaving him with the sting of regret he's been living with for so long that he's grown accustomed to it.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so I was going to make it a bit longer but I figured this was as good a place as any to leave it. Just a note as to why Oliver's pulling away: I feel like I was kind of getting away from who he is with all the sharing, but it was part of the weird pull he's feeling toward Felicity right now. He's gotten comfortable with her and he's been opening up, but he's still struggling with the idea that she's this "good" person to his "bad" one, and like Thea said, he's afraid of what she's going to see and he doesn't want to end up damaging their relationship or the image he has of her in his head with the sharing. He's realized he wants more with her, but he's also realized that having more with her exposes her to more of him, and a greater possibility of hurt for both of them, so he's pulling away in a last ditch effort to stop what he's just now coming to terms with. I hope that clears up anything I wasn't too clear on. I can never tell if people are going to understand what I'm trying to get across or not so I figured I'd maybe tack on a bit more explanation for his actions. Don't worry, it is a very brief hiccup, I promise. (Like, next chapter it will be resolved, so please don't abandon me and my snail-like pace!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for all of your continued support! I'm sorry this is a bit later than I intended it to be, but… well… it kind of grew legs and ran away on me. It's about 3000 words longer than it was supposed to be, so I'm sorry if it's a bit difficult to get through it all at once. I've been trying to keep the chapters around 5000-7500 words and this one's nearly 10,000. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I will try my best to keep them on a leash. **

**Just a quick note, the ellipses in Oliver's speech are my representation of how I see the whole halting speech thing he does on the show, especially when he's talking about those dreaded feelings he doesn't want anyone to know he has. Don't worry, this stupid attempt at nobility on his part is very brief. In fact, it was much more brief than I originally planned, but I found I preferred to just skip over it with a few words than actually write it out and waste your time as well as mine. As a result, this chapter ended on a slightly different note than I intended, but I'll let you read on to see what I mean.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

After a day at the office filled with careful politeness, Oliver can't bring himself to subject them all to the same thing in the foundry. Instead, he heads out to check on Whicker's place to see if anyone is lurking around. It serves double duty in clearing his head as well. His mind is overwhelmed lately with everything happening all at once. He finds himself wishing for a return to the calm he was so anxious about a few short weeks ago, when his chief concern was Felicity's safety and trying to make sense of her strange behaviour. There's nothing to be done for it now, though.

Lance called before he headed out, filling them in on the investigation as much as he could. Whoever killed Whicker had time to stage it as a suicide before the police arrived, and none of the lower level Russians are talking, confusing them even more. Clearly, there is more than one person in on this, but he's baffled as to the mechanics of it all. Konn and Whicker operated the trafficking ring together, but he gets the impression that Whicker was the more public face of the operation. The mysterious woman reported to Konn, and Whicker got his digital sidekick from the Russian mobster, which makes him think that Konn is higher on the chain of command than Whicker. The dead man's final words also make him think that maybe Whicker was recruited by this woman and set up to take the fall for the whole thing. Of course, they were counting on more time to operate their business before they were caught, but the fallout still holds the same results. Whicker takes the blame and then commits suicide in a fit of guilt or despair or however they sell it. Either way, the only one who could possibly refute the evidence pointing to Whicker is the man himself, and he ends up dead. Following this theory, Whicker was right: he got screwed over. The only way he would have willingly joined is if the woman promised he'd be protected, but she obviously lied to him.

The one thing he still can't figure out is where the woman fits. Is she Konn's underling, sent to find a patsy for the human trafficking business he wanted to start up again? Or is she the one who's pulling the strings? Whicker trusted her, which lends itself to a deeper bond than just an underling sent to recruit an American willing to involve himself in something like this, but it doesn't confirm it. The only way to find out is to locate the woman, but they've had no luck on that front.

The all-too-familiar frustration fills him to the breaking point and he lashes out at a couple of thugs trying to mug an older woman on the way back to the foundry. He uses more force than necessary, but it doesn't even make a dent in his anger. As he leaves them tied together on the sidewalk and tells Digg, who's taken control of the comms for the moment, to call Lance, he imagines the disapproval in Felicity's eyes if she were here to see him leave the two battered men behind. The admonishment that would be in her voice rings in his ears as clearly as though she's standing in front of him, but he does his best to ignore it. She's become the voice in his head, though, and he can't get rid of her no matter how much he knows he should.

* * *

When he gets back to the foundry, Digg beckons him over to the computers immediately. His stomach clenches with the hope that perhaps they've caught a break as he makes his way over, careful to avoid standing too close to Felicity. If her posture is anything to go by, she notices and finds it utterly ridiculous, but he knows he's gotten too relaxed around her lately and that needs to stop if he has any chance of pulling back now. She's addictive, and he's always had an addictive edge to his personality. Before, it was alcohol and other, less legal, substances. Now, it's become the ease he feels around his blonde partner. Even before his revelation, he knows he relied too much on her bright optimism to pick him up on his worst days. He needs to separate himself from her or it will backfire on both of them.

"Found Whicker's reaction after the fallout," the other man says as Oliver crosses his arms to prevent himself from leaning over Felicity's shoulder to look. "Listen to this."

He doesn't have to say anything in response before Whicker's panicked voice is flooding the room.

"What?! How?! You've- you've got to be kidding me! How did the cops…?" A pause. "I thought we did, I swear. Usually the Arrow doesn't act without solid proof." Another pause, but when Whicker speaks again his voice is calm, controlled, and edged with anger. "Yeah, well I guess we were both wrong. Look, I need to make some calls, figure this out. I trust you can handle things on your end."

Oliver starts to back up, not understanding why this is important. It's clearly just Whicker finding out about the trafficking ring's bust. Digg, however, draws his attention back to the audio recording, telling him it isn't over. Felicity hits a few buttons to skip ahead in the recording a few minutes.

"The Arrow took down the ring." Silence. "Yes, I know it's weeks ahead of schedule." Another pause, and then a heavy sigh. "Well maybe you should have been a little faster." Yet another pause. "How is this _my_ fault? Konn's man was supposed to be better than whoever he's got, and he wasn't. If anything, this is _his _fault." This time the silence is longer, punctuated by the steadily increasing pace of footsteps and heavy breathing. "What do you mean? You said you'd protect me! You said if I did this, I wouldn't go away for it. I was just supposed to lure Konn into feeling secure until you gave the green light to expose him! You can't- You can't do this to me! You- You BITCH!" The words are punctuated by the sound of what he assumes is the phone smashing against the wall.

This time, the recording is done, and Oliver frowns at the computer as he tries to make sense of it. Pairing it with the words Whicker said to him before he was shot, he decides it's reasonable to assume that he was talking to the woman. He told the Arrow that a female swore to protect him, the very words he shouted into the phone just moments before. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs heavily and turns to face his two companions.

"So this woman is the one pulling the strings," he finally says. "She convinced Whicker to get involved by telling him he'd only be making Konn feel secure, and then she betrayed him. Why?"

"Probably to cover her own ass," Digg replies, pushing off from his seat beside Felicity. "Whicker takes the fall for the American half of the ring and Konn takes the fall for the Russian side, or Whicker just takes the fall for both. Either way, she comes out clean as a whistle."

"It has promise, but if that's true, why are they so concerned about the timeline?" Felicity chimes in, biting her lip as Oliver cuts his eyes to her. "It's just… Well, they've made references before to how short of a time this ring was up and running before we caught them. Konn said it to Whicker when he came to visit him…"

"_You drew attention to yourself too qvickly. You vere supposet to stay heedin longer."_

She continues talking as the recording echoes through his mind. "And Whicker just said it on the phone. He's saying that she should have been a little faster. Maybe, if it was just Konn, I could understand," she continues gnawing on her lip as she takes up the route Oliver took when he was pacing, "Because maybe Konn was promised a certain time frame but didn't get it. But, if Whicker is telling this woman that it was busted weeks ahead of schedule and that she should have been faster? That screams sketchy to me. And it's like they were expecting the Arrow to be on this. Most criminals don't accept that inevitability, but it was like they were counting on us tracking them down."

Oliver's brow furrows and Digg nods thoughtfully as they consider her words. It makes sense, thinking about it. Between Konn and Whicker, it could be considered innocent, but the second referral when Whicker spoke to the woman brings it into a new light.

Digg is the one to ask the question this time. "At the risk of one, or both, of you ripping my head off, what does that mean?"

* * *

Despite his resolve to pull away from her, he stays to see her safely to her car. Just because he knows he can't let himself explore any further down the path he's discovered doesn't mean he isn't still concerned for her safety. She keeps a gun on her now at their insistence, despite her counter suggestion of a Taser or pepper spray, but he can't bear the thought of someone attacking her when he's not there.

"I can't get anything else tonight," she says, standing from her chair wearily and turning to face him. "I'm checking deeper into Konn but I don't expect much, and the Ghost is too good to leave a way for me to trace the decoys from the missing persons reports back to a single IP address, so I think it's time to give up on that. I'll see what I can get through the back channels in Russia on his history, but it doesn't look promising." She sighs and runs a hand over her head, smoothing her ponytail in the process as she picks up her bag. "I don't even know where to begin searching for this woman. She's linked to both Konn and Whicker yet there's no trace of a financial connection between any of them, though I shouldn't expect it to be obvious if this Ghost is the one handling the cover-up."

He nods absently, heading after her to the door. Before she opens the connection to the main floor, however, she spins back around to face him, causing him to stop in surprise, his face on an even level with hers. He can't help but think it's intentional so she can look him dead in the eye.

"Look, I get that what you went through was painful and traumatic, and sharing even the small bits of it that you did was probably beyond hard, but I'm not some china doll, Oliver. You don't have to pull back because you're afraid I might break. What happened in your past is in the past. I'm sorry if I touched a nerve bringing up Laurel. It won't happen again. Just don't shut me out."

"I'm not-" He tries to deny it, but the way she tilts her head tells him that she won't buy it. Instead, he sighs, dipping his head to look at the floor briefly before flicking his eyes back to hers. "It's not about Laurel."

She nods thoughtfully, studying him for a moment as though trying to determine if he's being honest or not.

The uncertainty in her eyes prompts him to continue, even though he wasn't planning on volunteering any information. "Our… friendship… is important to me. I don't want to do or say anything to jeopardize that."

"So, naturally, the solution is to just stop saying anything at all?"

Put like that, it sounds stupid, but he knows that it's the right thing to do. His track record speaks for itself. She deserves more than he can give her, and he can't afford to ruin her like her father did. She could have a normal life with someone like Connor. They could fall in love and get married and have 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and a dog. She could have everything she deserves in life with a nice, safe man who doesn't run the risk of shattering her like he could and probably will.

She's still waiting for a response while he's been absorbed in his thoughts, he realizes, and finally settles on, "I wouldn't… be able to forgive myself if I was the source of any more of your pain."

At this, she scoffs lightly and rolls her eyes. "There you go with that china doll assumption again. I've survived emotional trauma and building collapses and psycho gunmen and being held hostage more times than I can count, and it was _my_ choice. I could have quit, but I came back every single time because I know I can handle it. Am I different than when we started out? Yes. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. People change. I'm a big girl, Oliver. I can take care of myself, despite the opinion of every male I've ever known…"

He wonders if her response is intentionally devoid of specificity, as his was, or if she really thinks it's just about their friendship. It's not, because he can't deny that he doesn't want to increase the temptation that will come with continuing to open up to her. She makes it too easy, and he knows that eventually he'll give in if he keeps down this road. He won't just ruin their friendship then, but he wasn't lying when he told her it was important to him. Felicity is one of two people with whom he can shed his masks and he doesn't want to lose her because of his selfishness. Is that very reasoning selfish? Incredibly. But Oliver Queen has always been selfish. He likes to think that now he's selfish in ways that benefit others, not just his base desires. He's selfish in order to prevent pain, not causing it as a result of the flaw, but he also needs to be selfish in order to keep Felicity in his life, no matter the capacity in which she stays. He can handle being her friend; he's done it for about two years now. What he can't handle is knowing that he broke her. He can't stand to drive her away, never to return.

She doesn't offer any elaboration to her comment, instead turning and finishing the walk to her car. As he starts to trail after her, she shoots a "don't bother" over her shoulder, leaving him to stand in the club and wonder if it's possible to feel any worse than he currently does.

* * *

He tries not to think about it for the next few days, instead taking out his roiling emotions on every piece of training equipment they have. Without an actual criminal to take his frustrations out on, the equipment has taken quite a beating, and if the looks Digg keeps shooting him are any indication, the older man has noticed his more aggressive approach. He also seems to have picked up on the strange tension between Oliver and Felicity, as he's careful to keep the atmosphere in the foundry light and focused on the matter at hand.

"Alright, what's going on, man?" He finally cracks, interrupting Oliver's thorough beating of one of the rubber dummies. They're alone, as they have been far too often in the past few days. Felicity's been coming in a good hour or two later than usual.

Oliver wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, sucking in a breath and shaking his head. "What do you mean?"

Digg fixes him with a look to rival Felicity's. "I mean one day I have to warn you to check yourself, and now you two barely say five words to each other. What the hell is going on, Oliver?"

"I- I just…" Oliver sighs, allowing his eyes to close momentarily before formulating an acceptable answer. "I realized you were right. I was blurring lines, Digg, and the result of that wasn't going to be pretty."

"So you stopped?" The other man inquires, folding his arms across his chest. Oliver gets the feeling this question has a right and a wrong answer.

"Yes," he grounds out, stepping around Digg to grab his water bottle. "I shouldn't have let the lines blur, so I stopped before it got any further. It's better this way."

Digg is shooting him an arched eyebrow when he checks out of the corner of his eye. "Is that what you'd call this? _Better?_"

He lets his head fall back in near exasperation. "It's not what you think. I let myself get close for a fraction of a second, but I realized the damage it would do. This is me correcting my lapse in judgement."

"That's what you're calling it?"

"What would you like me to call it?" He snaps back, irritated.

"Look, I may not have been on board at first, but whatever was going on seemed to be helping," Digg replies, holding his hands up defensively. "_Both_ of you."

He can't explain it in a way that will make sense, so he merely heads off to resume hitting dummies again. He's starting to think, though, that there's more to this than simply not wanting to hurt Felicity by getting any closer. He didn't mean to push her away so abruptly, but he never meant for Felicity to come into contact with anything island-related. The possibility of the things he could tell her changing the way she sees him is a risk he can't take. He needs her. He relies on her light to chase away his dark, and he's now starting to see his fear that sharing that dark with her could taint the light.

_But it's already tainted._ The voice inside his head whispers to him, curving around every excuse he has prepared. Tainted is the wrong choice of word, but the point remains the same. She said it herself: everyone has something. No one can be all light, all the time. There's always going to be a dark stain in there somewhere. Felicity's is her father, regardless of how well she hides it, and maybe that's the problem. She's always been so cheerful and optimistic that he assumed she was the exception to the rule. He's been completely caught off guard by this strange, darker version of the Felicity he knows, leaving him to question everything he assumed about her, and it's shaken him. It could be why he's sharing far too easily.

Or it could be something else entirely. Maybe he's just tired of holding it all in, and watching her finally divest herself of some of the pain she's been carrying around for six years has prompted his desire to do the same. Except he's been through hell ten times over, and he knows that if he keeps it up, he'll tell her pretty much everything. She may not be the china doll she so loathes, but he knows that a lot of what would eventually spill from his lips are things he never wants anyone to know, least of all her.

But she's told him before that she's perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and she knows what he is and she's chosen to stay. He needs to stop putting her on this pedestal and let her decide for herself if she wants to hear what he has to say. He knows that he wants to hear what she has to tell him. He wants to help her, and he can't expect her to open up to him if he's not willing to do the same. The last few days are proof of that. He shut down, and she responded in kind. If he wants to undo the damage he's done, he's going to need to fight against this instinct to shield her from himself.

No matter how long he spends analyzing it, he's still a selfish bastard, and the weight still settles in his stomach as she joins them in the foundry half an hour later, not even sparing a glance in his direction before she sits down and gets to work.

* * *

"You know, there's still one avenue we haven't explored," Digg tells him, hesitation evident in his voice. They're alone in the foundry once again, Felicity having stepped out to take a phone call from her mother. Oliver gets the feeling he won't like where this is going. "Your Bratva contacts might know something."

He's already shaking his head. "I can't go there. Not again."

"We're kind of running thin on options, Oliver."

"I hadn't noticed," he responds drily.

Digg shrugs. "I'm just saying. Might be they can point us in the right direction. They'd be familiar with Konn, at least on some level."

Oliver takes a deep, calming breath. The Bratva are a chapter of his life he'd like to put behind him if at all possible. That, and he's not so sure the Starling chapter would be so welcoming to him again. He can't push his luck with the mobsters, but Diggle has a point. They're at a standstill, and the Bratva may be their only option.

"Digg's right."

Both men jerk their heads around to see Felicity at the bottom of the stairs. Neither heard her come in, and Oliver isn't sure if it's a tribute to the training with Digg or their distraction. Her tone indicates no surprise at the subject of their conversation and he takes a second to ponder why the mention of him holding connections to a Russian mob group wouldn't shock her. He's never told her anything about them.

"I'm not an idiot, Oliver," she answers his unasked question with an eyebrow cocked challengingly as she crosses her arms across her chest. "You've been shirtless around me enough for me to see that tattoo. You may not have felt the need to share, but you think I didn't look it up?"

He dips his head in acknowledgement. Felicity isn't one to push curiosity aside, so it shouldn't be surprising that she took it upon herself to connect the dots.

"I'm with Digg. The Bratva may be our best option. If not, we're no further back than we already are." Her face is set in determination as she raises her chin a fraction of an inch.

Oliver may be a selfish bastard, but he knows when to admit defeat. They're right, really. The Bratva _are_ their best option. "I'll set up the meet."

* * *

Oliver's eyes move quickly, taking in his surroundings as he and Digg enter the rundown garage. It's been a while since he's been here, and while he remembers the essentials, the little things are often more important, so he catalogues each one of them. He takes in a total of five guys in the near vicinity, ready to react if needed. In theory, he and Digg can easily take five guys, but each of them likely has a gun, so that's not really a smart idea. This time, they have the added bonus of Felicity watching the place on thermal, so he doesn't feel quite as apprehensive walking in here. Captain or not, these guys can easily turn on him, and if that happens Digg will be caught in the crossfire, too.

"Oliver Queen! Long time, no see!" Alexi Leonov calls out as he approaches, his Russian accent not as pronounced as Konn's. The too-cheerful smile on his face reflects just how delicate the situation is. The last time he saw Leonov, he was fleeing from the police as they interrupted Oliver's meet with the Count. The possibility that Leonov has forgotten that is slim to none, regardless of the good terms on which he last parted with Anatoli Knyazev. Hopefully the leader passed down word that any interruption from the cops was unintentional.

"I've been… busy," he replies carefully. "After the last time, I thought it best to avoid contact at all costs. I didn't want to lead anyone to your doorstep."

"Luckily, ve managed to escape that situation mostly unscathed. Anatoli assured us it vas by no fault of yours," Leonov acknowledges, eyeing Oliver speculatively. "Vy are you here?"

He takes a deep breath. Obviously Anatoli ordered his safety should he ever contact the Starling branch again, though that doesn't completely put him at ease. "I need information, if you have it."

"On?" Leonov prompts, moving to sit on a stool beside a blue truck propped on one of the many lifts in the garage. He wipes his hands on a rag as he does so, but the rag is already so filthy Oliver's not sure how much good it does.

"Aleksandr Konn. He was involved in a revival of Justin Whicker's human trafficking ring, working with Brandon Whicker and an unidentified woman."

Leonov nods slowly. "Aleksandr is no friend of ours. Not anymore."

"But he was?"

"Дa," he answers in the affirmative of his mother tongue. "He thought he could do better, so he left. I have yet to see him surpass the Bratva as he claimed he vould."

"He was Bratva?" Oliver repeats, surprised that Felicity hadn't dug that up.

"At the lower level for a few years about ten years ago. He split off ven he didn't climb the ranks as qvickly as he desired. Ve can't all jump straight to Captain."

Oliver feels his stomach contract slightly at the mention of his elevated rank but ignores the slight tension. "Did he take anyone with him?"

"A couple of lower levels who vere less than pleased. They vent vith one of our higher ups who felt the same, and are still nothing more than mid-level mobsters today," Leonov supplies with a chuckle. "Though I suppose Konn is more or less in charge of things now, so he sort of got his wish."

"More or less?" Oliver clarifies, raising an eyebrow.

Leonov shrugs. "I hear things. Whispers. They say someone's pulling Konn's strings behind the scenes. Of course, it's all unproven."

He files the information away for consideration later on. "What do you know about their connections?"

"Vy do you ask?"

He can sense the suspicion behind Leonov's question and immediately puts his guard up. He needs to tread carefully so he doesn't give too much away. "Like I said, he was involved in a reboot of a human trafficking ring in Starling. I want to be sure I've got everyone responsible. I figured you guys would know something about the inner-workings, being the end-all-be-all of organized crime in Moscow."

At this, Leonov grunts in amusement. "That ve are. Konn vas approached by Whicker a few months back vith the proposal, or so my sources have said. Whicker supplied the merchandise, Konn supplied the… precautions."

"Like a computer expert?"

A grin twitches at the edges of Leonov's lips. "You already know the answer to that. Vy are you asking me? Tell me, Oliver Queen, vat do you really vant to know?"

"Exactly what you're telling me."

The older man shakes his head. "You know much of vat I tell you. You came here seeking specific information."

Taking a deep breath, Oliver decides to honor Leonov's unspoken request to get straight to the point. They may have gotten valuable new information out of the Bratva, but it isn't what he originally came for. "I want to know if you've heard anything about a female associate of Konn's, or this computer expert."

"Ahhh, the Ghost." Leonov pauses to stand and advance toward them, his voice lowering. "It is said that he is more than just an average computer expert, that he hides behind his monitors to shield his true talents. It is said that he spent some time in Nanda Parbat."

Oliver has no response for that, his mind trying to make sense of this new information.

Finally, Leonov laughs loudly, clapping him on the shoulder and stepping back. "You are too gullible, my friend. Those are stories told in hushed voices in the corners of Aleksandr's club to dissuade anyone double-crossing him. You betray me, I set the Ghost on you. The Ghost is a mystery that few can say they truly understand. I cannot say I've ever seen his face. I doubt even Aleksandr has. He has been on the edges of our awareness for some time, but never has he been any cause for real concern. The Ghost is nothing but a man more comfortable to hide behind his screens than to face to real world.

"This voman you refer to, though, I have heard more concrete whispers of. The daughter of Viktor Svalov. Her return was of great note. She vas lost for some time, until nine years ago she reappears to take her place by her father's side. Ven he died three years later, it was thought that she vould take over, but Aleksandr did instead. If you ask me, and you are, I vould say this voman is Svalov's daughter."

"What makes you think that? She could be an American tied to Whicker," Oliver points out.

"True," Leonov concedes, "But Americans are not so easily velcomed into the fold of our types of organizations, as you vell know. Aleksandr may have vorked vith Whicker, but he vouldn't involve himself in a deal vith two Americans. Too much potential for betrayal. If this is a three-person operation, as you say, this voman vould be a Russian, and one Aleksandr trusts. He vouldn't involve himself any other vay."

* * *

Oliver breathes out a hefty sigh as he turns the information from Leonov over in his mind again. While it helps connect some of the dots, there are still more questions than he'd like. Not for the first time, he wishes someone would just give him all of the answers instead of forcing this scavenger hunt. Felicity has completely abandoned her search for the Ghost, deciding the woman is more important for the time being. Perhaps finding the identity of the woman will help them make more connections to the elusive Russian hacker.

"Did you want something?" Her voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to realize he's been staring at her. For her part, she's swivelled the chair to face him, chin propped in her hand as she balances her elbow on the arm rest, staring right back.

Giving himself a mental shake, he pulls his lips into a tight smile. "Sorry."

She keeps her eyes focused on him as he turns away and walks to some indeterminate location before stopping and running his hands through his hair, interlocking his fingers behind his neck and exhaling loudly. She gives him a second before speaking. "The stuff Leonov told you about Svalov pans out like he said. He was an upper-level Bratva before he split off, taking Konn and a few lower level minions with him and forming an offshoot. It took a bit of digging, and without knowing what to look for I don't think I would have found it. Probably the work of the Ghost. I can't find anything about this daughter of Svalov's, though. She's about as invisible in terms of digital and paper trails as our friendly neighbourhood stalker. I can't connect him to a daughter in any way, so I'm assuming she's the product of one of what were probably many one-night stands. It'll be nearly impossible to track her down, so hopefully something from Svalov's past shakes loose soon. I mean, this could be any number of situations. Maybe she was put up for adoption, or maybe her mother raised her as a single parent and there's no father on the birth certificate, or maybe she found a guy willing to claim the child for his own, or she lied to him and made him believe the kid was his, or-"

"Felicity," he cuts her off when her face starts to turn slightly red from lack of oxygen during her rant. "Breathe."

She does as he tells her, closing her eyes briefly. "Sorry. It's just… this is my job. This is what I do and I feel like I'm not living up to my end lately. I can't find anything!"

"Hey," he says softly, moving to crouch in front of her chair, his hands steadying him on the armrests. "This isn't your fault. You don't have to have all the answers."

"But it would make life infinitely easier if I did. I just don't know how to make this all connect. I feel like it's there, but it's just beyond my reach. Every time we get an answer, five more questions pop up and I'm tired of it."

"You're not the only one," he agrees, returning to his feet and taking a few steps away from her.

Neither says anything for a long while, but the silence isn't as tense as it has been the past few days. He finds he's missed the loosening of the knot in his stomach that comes with talking to the blonde. Studying her covertly as she turns back to her monitors, Oliver can feel his resolve to back away crumbling further. She's been a part of this team for about two years, as she's pointed out, and she's been in danger far more often than he'd care to think about. Digg's right, and so is she. Whatever was going on _was_ helping, and it isn't fair of him to decide what she can and can't handle. He should leave it up to her and let the chips fall where they may. If he really wants to assuage his guilt, he can say he's doing this for her. He wants her to know that she can be open with him and talk to him about what's bothering her, regardless of whether that's her father or just general stress, and to do that, he needs to demonstrate his willingness to do the same.

"I met Anatoli on a ship," he tells her softly. The sound of her typing stops and he senses that she's turned the chair around to face him again, but he studies the ground, his eyebrows drawn together. "I was taken prisoner in the second year on the island and he was in the cell next to mine. It was also where I found Sara again. I promised him I'd come back for him when she and I escaped, and I kept my word."

He chances a glance at her to find her eyes wide in shock. He hasn't really divulged much, but it's more than he's told anyone about his connection to the Bratva. He can still share things with her without delving too deeply. There _is_ such a thing as too much information in this case, and he doesn't want or need to go beyond an overview of what happened.

"That's how I got my rank in the Bratva. I saved Anatoli from Ivo. He offered to take me off the island with him, but I had… other commitments by that time."

She's still staring at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression at his second one-eighty of the week. He will fully admit that trying to keep up with him is probably enough to give her whiplash.

"I'm sorry," he says, when he's sure no response is forthcoming. "You were right. I shouldn't presume to know what you can and can't handle."

So rarely is Felicity Smoak left speechless that he almost wants to laugh at the fact that he's seemed to render her unable to find words. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she resorts to continuing to frown at him.

"Now is the point where you say 'It's ok, Oliver. I forgive you,'" he prompts with a twitch of his lips.

"I- uh, wow. Did Oliver Queen really just admit to being wrong?" She finally asks, grinning.

"Yes, he did, but it rarely happens, so savour it."

"Noted," she responds with a sharp nod. "I'm sorry for jumping down your throat about it. My dad… he was overprotective to the extreme. He was always making decisions and telling me it was for the best or it was what I needed. He never trusted me to be able to figure out my limits myself and it drove me crazy." She picks at a loose thread on her skirt as she stares at her lap. "I resented him for it right up until he… left. I mean, he wanted nothing to do with me and Mom, but he thought he could tell me what to do, who to be friends with, and dictate that I needed to learn to shoot a gun?" She scoffs in disgust and shakes her head, eyes shining as she glances up at the ceiling briefly. "He isolated me from everyone but him and Mom during my senior year. I skipped a couple of grades, so I didn't have too many friends to begin with, but when he took away the ones I did have, telling me he was protecting me… I couldn't get away fast or far enough. I was tired of being the quiet girl in the corner at school, and I was even more tired of trying to keep my fracturing family together. He didn't even care when I just gave up and stopped trying. He said it was good that I wasn't allowing myself to get emotionally involved anymore, like it was a good thing that I was shutting myself off from everyone."

"I don't mean to make you feel like I'm controlling you…" He sighs. For all of his good intentions, he's still managed to hurt her. "I just…" His eyes search the surroundings, as though they'll magically land on the words he wants to say. "Sharing is difficult for me. I'm not used to it. My natural instinct is to back away, but I want you to feel like you can talk to me, and to do that… I need to resist that instinct. I… I don't want you to get hurt."

She stands, closing some of the distance between them and looking him dead in the eye. "You aren't going to hurt me, Oliver."

Her ability to read between the lines bites him in the ass once more as he swallows thickly. Eventually, he drags his eyes from hers and straightens up. He didn't mean to get straight back on this path, but it's where he finds himself once again. It just seems natural, at this point, to be on this track. He isn't sure he can go back from wanting her in this new capacity without completely shutting her out, and the frightening part is that he isn't sure he wants to. For all the time he's spent convincing himself it's wrong, he keeps coming back to it. These past few days have been hell, and he has no desire to go back there.

She allows him to resume the habitual escort to her car, turning back to him abruptly after she unlocks her car door. "I… I get why you did it. I do. Sometimes it's just easier to pull back and remove yourself from the situation."

He remembers her saying something to that effect concerning her father's drinking and nods. "Sometimes it's better for everyone else that way, too."

"That's rarely the reality of the situation; it's just what we like to tell ourselves as consolation for entering self-preservation mode. It's what I told myself when…" She trails off, taking a shaky breath. "Well, let's just say I've been there, and it didn't really do much for me."

"I'm starting to see the truth in that," he admits, eyes raking over her face. Without fully realizing it, he reaches out and takes her hand in his gently, running his thumb over the back of it softly and drawing her attention back to his face. His gaze lingers on her lips for a fraction of a second before he meets her eyes, wondering once more what it would be like to close the distance between them. But he can't, of course. "I, uh, I missed you- talking to you- these past few days. You know, without all the tension."

She smiles slightly at that, squeezing his hand. "I missed you, too, even if I spent a vast majority of the time in your company."

He shuts the car door behind her on much better terms than he did last time, and the smile lingers on his lips well after he returns to the Manor for the night.

* * *

His mother eyes him thoughtfully over her coffee mug a few days later. "You seem… happy this morning."

He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. "I guess I am. Isabel's out of the office all day today."

"Oliver," she admonishes, but is smiling while she does so. "That's no way to refer to one's business partner."

He half-shrugs. "I doubt she talks about me any more favourably, Mom. She _did_ originally come in for a hostile takeover."

Moira concedes his point, taking a sip of her coffee and continuing to peruse the newspaper in front of her. "I'm not entirely surprised with your attitude toward her. I was worried at first. She does have certain… charms."

He chokes on a mouthful of his own coffee at her insinuation. She shoots him a knowing look at his reaction and he focuses on anything but his mother as he tries to compose himself again.

"I never trusted her, not even when your father first met her all those years ago. She was just a low ranking businesswoman starting out back then, but I knew something was… off. He managed to see her true colours in time, and I'm glad you have as well."

"I didn't realize Dad knew her," he responds carefully.

"Oh, yes, he met her at some function or other. He thought she was an intelligent woman and tried to hire her away from Stelmoor. That last year, though…" She pauses thoughtfully, pursing her lips. "Whatever happened, I'm glad his rose-coloured glasses were removed where Isabel Rochev was concerned."

Unable to come up with any kind of response, Oliver merely nods. He devours the rest of his breakfast quickly in an effort to escape the slightly awkward situation and meets Diggle outside fifteen minutes earlier than usual. The other man gives him a questioning look but he simply shakes his head and slides into the back seat of the car. For once, he's eager to get to the office so he can forget all about that conversation.

* * *

The end of the day sees no further progress on any of the information they gleaned from the Bratva, earning a frustrated growl from Felicity. She's been running searches on Svalov's past, trying to connect him to a woman who could possibly have mothered this daughter Leonov seems convinced is involved, but hasn't had any luck.

"He's never made a single payment to any suspicious account I could connect to a possible child. In fact, his financials don't indicate any hefty tampering until about three years before he died. Before then, it's pretty obvious, kind of like Whicker's. I don't think Svalov was too well connected in the tech department before then," she sighs. "These Russians are just breaking my heart with their ineptitude."

"Wait," Digg speaks up, leaving the training mat and heading toward Felicity. "Did you say three years before his death?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, why?"

Oliver catches on just before Digg answers, "Leonov said his daughter reappeared three years before his death."

"You think his daughter brought the Ghost into the operation?" Felicity asks, eyes wide as she spins back around to face her monitors. "That could be possible. The Ghost supposedly only works for Konn and his organization. If he was brought in by Svalov's daughter that loyalty would make sense. I was thinking, too… Leonov mentioned that Konn's leadership was rumoured to be only on the surface. Who else do we now know likes to pull the strings from behind the scenes?"

"The woman. You think this woman, Svalov's daughter, is actually in charge of the Bratva offshoot, but is making it look like Konn is?" Oliver realizes.

"Purely conjecture, but what else have we got at this point? For all of their technological ineptitude they're remarkably good at creating unsolvable puzzles," she grumbles.

His lips twitch at her words and Digg nods in agreement before calling Lyla and heading out for the night. The one good thing about this standstill is that they've had relatively early nights the past week.

Felicity's phone starts blaring some song that he's sure is popular right now, interrupting the silence between them. After glancing at the screen, she hits a button to silence it before turning back and hitting a few keys to set some diagnostics to run for the night. When she looks up to see him looking at her questioningly, she shrugs, mumbling something about her mother and calling her back later.

"What's she like, your mother?" He asks suddenly, surprising himself. He's curious about her mother, but he's never wanted to push the issue in case he oversteps and scares her off. It took two years for her to feel like she can open up about her family and he doesn't want to screw that up, especially not now that they're finally getting back on track.

It takes her a moment to respond, but he recognizes the look on her face as one of contemplation rather than discomfort. "Warm. Loving. Strong. She has the best laugh," she tells him finally, a soft smile of affection lighting up her face. "She always wants to be able to fix everything, which is why she tried so hard… with my father. She throws herself into everything. It's always all or nothing. She always told me you can't do anything halfway, or you'll always look back and wonder. She always thinks the best of people, even when they give her every reason not to."

"She sounds remarkable," he says, a half-smile on his face. She sounds a lot like Felicity.

"She is. I always thought my father would ruin her, but she managed to pick herself back up. I offered to drop out of school to take care of her after… but she wouldn't let me. She told me that she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if I let it change my life so drastically. I think it was that conversation that made it click for me, really. Even in the thick of her grief she managed to make me see that there was more to life than one single event that seemed like it would end it all. She made me realize that it was possible to keep going, because if she could do it, so could I. I didn't even like him at the end, and she was in love with him, so I really had no excuse."

"He was still your father," he points out.

"Yeah. I guess what I'm trying to say is that she made me realize that being angry wasn't constructive. I was mad at him for ruining her, but she was getting past it, so I knew I had to, too. I couldn't be mad at him for something he hadn't done. I don't think she meant for me to compartmentalize it all, but I did what I had to."

He watches her for a second before she turns away and grabs her jacket. He automatically reaches out to help her, pulling her hair gently from the collar once her arms are through the sleeves, allowing his hands to settle on her shoulders. She turns to give him a quick smile of gratitude, bringing her face closer than either of them anticipated. Quickly, she turns back and puts some distance between them, heading for the door.

"She's like that," she says once she reaches the top of the stairs. Stopping briefly to pull the door open, she looks at him as she continues, "She can make you see beyond the here and now and get you out of your head."

"That's something you get from her."

She looks startled at the comparison. "I don't-"

"You do, Felicity," he argues. They've made their way to the back door by now, and he holds it for her, his hand landing on her back as she passes him. "You may not realize it, but you… I was caught up in my past and the mistakes I've made, but then I met you, and you're bright and full of life. You make me remember what it's like to be present. You… For the first time a few days ago… You made me feel like I could have what you seem to think I deserve. You made me feel worthy of it, Felicity."

They've reached her car at some point during his speech, but she's turned her back to it, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. He wonders briefly when their fingers intertwined during their walk, but decides not to question it.

"You are," she tells him softly. Her eyes reflect her complete belief in the statement, and he feels his stomach contract in that strange way it does around her. "That's why you really pulled away, isn't it? What I told you scared you."

He reaches up to brush his fingers across her cheekbone lightly as he nods, allowing his palm to cup her jaw as his thumb swipes across her cheek. He doesn't respond at first, his brain warring with his desire to feel her lips against his. He can't pretend he doesn't think about it more than is appropriate, and he can't pretend it isn't all he wants to do right now, but it isn't smart. There's a ninety percent chance that he'll break her. It's why he backed away, but she's managed to pull him back in despite his resistance. He feels comfortable with her. The way she looks at him makes him feel like he's a better man than memory provides, and the selfish part of him doesn't want that feeling to go away as it did after he pulled away from her last time.

Before he can formulate his thoughts into any kind of words, she's speaking again, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, thumb ghosting over his pulse. "It shouldn't. I meant what I said. You're a good man, Oliver, and you deserve to be happy," she tells him with a steady voice. "Sometimes you just have to take the leap," she whispers after a beat, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He assumes his eyes must betray the thoughts swirling in his mind, because the hint of a smile fades as her eyes frantically search his for any trace of his intentions.

And, because he's a selfish bastard, Oliver follows his desire. It may be a bad idea, but he can't go another second without it. Sometimes you have to take the leap. So he shuts his brain off and allows his instincts to take over as he moves faster than his mind can catch up. She gasps in surprise just before he presses his lips against hers firmly, his hand sliding back to wrap around the back of her neck and hold her to him. The hand holding his wrist falls away to land on his chest between them with the barest pressure as his momentum pushes her back against her car.

The moment she overcomes her initial surprise is clear, as her hand splays fully over his chest, sliding up to wrap around his neck and into his hair. He extricates his other hand from hers as she returns the pressure of his lips, moving to wrap both of his arms around her waist to pull her flush against him. He wants her as close as possible, nipping at her bottom lip as her other arm wraps fully around his neck. Oliver feels a blaze of warmth exploding in his chest and reaching to every extremity as he deepens the kiss. Her fingers run through his hair as they fight for dominance, and he surrenders first, admitting defeat as he pulls away for air. His eyes search her face, both breathing heavily to replace their oxygen supply. Her eyes flutter open after a second, meeting his, and there's a surprising amount of uncertainty reflected in them.

"I- You- What just happened?" She finally stutters, eyes searching his.

He tries to answer, but can't find the words to explain exactly what is going through his head. Before he can say anything, though, the same ringtone from before breaks the silence between them. Felicity breaks her eyes from his, looking off to the side before focusing on searching through her bag for her phone as he steps back and runs a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," she apologizes, voice still a little breathless as she finally locates her phone. "She's been calling all day. I can't ignore her any more or she'll hop on the next plane here to make sure I'm not laying on my apartment floor bleeding out or something. In case you haven't noticed, I used to be pretty clumsy, and I fell a lot, so when I first moved out on my own she used to make me call her every night so she'd know I hadn't tripped and knocked myself unconscious or-"

He stops her with a hand on her cheek, the phone still blaring the ringtone between them. "Felicity. Breathe."

She obeys his direction, taking a deep breath as her ringtone stops and his starts, closely followed by hers restarting. He grits his teeth. Who in the hell is calling him this late at night?

"We'll… talk… later, ok?"

She nods. "Right. Later. Talk. Sure."

He presses his lips together to keep from smiling at how truly awkward she sounds as the reality of what just happened hits her. Hoping to soothe whatever anxieties are bouncing around in her head, he leans forward and places a quick kiss against her forehead before opening the car door for her. She presses the button to answer the call as she slides behind the wheel, still looking a little dazed. As he closes the door behind her, he can feel a smile splitting across his face. Looking down, he sees Thea's name lighting up his call display, and answers her call still grinning.

* * *

The next morning at the office brings a fresh bucket of perspective for both of them. Felicity shoots one quick glance in his direction before turning to her desk and resolutely staring at the computer screen. It's like she's trying to will the atmosphere to be less awkward, but he isn't sure if it's working for her. If he didn't find it downright amusing, and more than a little adorable, he'd go put her out of her misery right then, but he has a conference call in ten minutes that he needs to prep for, and the conversation they need to have is going to take longer than that. Instead, he contents himself with watching her through the glass as she warily takes a sip of the coffee he put on her desk. The way her back straightens every time he glances up tells her she's very aware of his gaze, but she's making a valiant effort to try to ignore the feel of his eyes on her.

Grinning slightly, he turns to the mail that was delivered this morning, hoping to get through it before the call. After sifting through several letters from investors and several more from people hoping to get _him_ to invest, as well as a couple of financial statements, he reaches the final manila envelope on his desk. He slits it open with a letter opener after confirming that it is in fact his name typed on the front. Without giving it much thought, he turns the envelope to spill the contents onto his desk, his blood immediately running cold when he focuses enough to catch a glimpse of what's inside.

Pictures. They've fallen in such a way that he can see a variety of different shots ranging from him and Felicity leaving her apartment in the morning, to them standing beside her car outside Verdant with their fingers intertwined late at night, her hand on his cheek, to last night's embrace with his lips on hers. A stack of pictures, staring back up at him from the glass surface of his desk as he shoots an alarmed glance up at Felicity, still blissfully unaware of what he's just opened. Because it isn't just the pictures that make him feel like he can't breathe. It's the typed note taped to the topmost photo.

**Stay away from Felicity Smoak.**

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so that was massively longer than I intended, but I really wanted to get to the note and the pictures this chapter, and the whole kiss thing kind of just happened. That was actually planned for next chapter, but as I was writing it just started to feel right for it to happen now. **

**Anyways, reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated! I had a comment about not enough Olicity, and I know the rather large amount of plot in the past couple of chapters has been taking away from them, and I do apologize for that. I've been trying to inject more of them into the chapters, and so far Chapter 12 is planned out to be a rather large Olicity-fest as a thank you for slogging through all the plot and a reprieve from all of the heavier reading. There will, of course, still be some plot contained in that chapter, but the large majority of it will be focused on them. I do reserve the right to make that more of a slight majority, since I'm not actually in the process of writing it just yet and I have no idea where the characters will end up taking me once I get more involved with it, but my intentions are to give everyone a break from all of the serious stuff and focus more on the relationship part for a bit.**


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